ch  of  Life 


Rachel  Swete  Macnamara 


By  Rachel  S.  Macnamara 


The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 
The  Torch  of  Life 


THE 
TORCH   OF  LIFE 


BY 


RACHEL  SWETE  MACNAMARA 

AUTHOR    OF 
"THE   FRINGE   OF  THE   DESERT,"   ETC. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

Ube  fmfcfeerbocfcer  press 
1914 


COPYRIGHT;  1914 

BY 
RACHEL   SWETE    MACNAMARA 


Ube  •Rnicfcerbocfcer  press,  "Hew  lorfe 


L.  E.  L. 

FOR   MANY  REASONS 


2136993 


CONTENTS 
.  BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   THE  INEVITABLE I 

II.   GREY  RETROSPECT 9 

in.    PANDORA'S  BOX       .        .        .  .  .20 

IV.      THE    PHASE    PITILESS            ....  34 

V.  THE   PHASE   AMOROUS         .           .  .  •  5° 
VI.      THE    PHASE   FORLORN          .            .  .  .  60 

VII.  THE   CONQUERING  OF  ALL   PHASES  .  .  71 
VIII.      THE   LAST   FLICK         .            .           .  .  •  79 

BOOK   II 

I.      THE   CITY   OF   BELLS            .            .  .  .  92 

II.       THE   WATER-LILY   CITY       .            .  .  IOI 

III.      THREADS   OF   FATE     .            .            .  .  .  1 13 

iv.     "SKIRTS  OF  STRAW"       .  124 

V.       ROSE- RED   CARNATIONS       .            .  .  .  137 

VI.  THE   TEMPESTS             .           .            .  .  .  147 
VII.      TOYE   AND   THE   TANGO      .            .  .  .  l6l 

VIII.  FIRES    OF   SUNSET       .            .        -    .  .  .     .  I78 
IX.       TOYE   INTERRUPTS     .            .'          .  .  .  IQO 

X.      FENTON   IN   VENICE                         .  .  .  2OI 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

xi.  TOYE'S  HINT 214 

XII.  THE   DINNER    PARTY  .  .  .  .227 

XIII.  ON  THE   BALCONY     .           .           .           .            .  242 

XIV.  LOVE   WITHOUT  WINGS      .  .  .  .254 

BOOK   III 

I.  MISS    GERARD    IS    ANGRY    .            .            .            .  273 

II.  TWO  IN   A    GARDEN  .                         .            .            .  285 

III.  TOYE   ON   KISSES 294 

IV.  MIDGES   IN  AMBER 306 

v.  FENTON'S  VISION 320 

VI.  ON  THE  CREST             .            .           .           .            .  334 

VII.  THE   GOLDEN    BIRD 345 

VIII.  THE   YEW   HEDGE 356 

IX.  LOVE   WITH   \VINGS 365 


THE  TORCH  OF  LIFE 


The  Torch  of  Life 

BOOK  I 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  INEVITABLE 

HAITIAN  FLEURY  sat  up  in  bed  and  pushed 
*  back  her  sleep-ruffled  hair  from  her  forehead. 
One  dark  red  plait  fell  over  her  shoulder  across  the 
transparencies  of  her  nightdress,  the  other,  with 
its  curling  ends  undone,  sprayed  out  on  the  pillow 
behind  her.  Her  lips  were  parted,  her  brown  sleep- 
filled  eyes  dazed  and  incredulous. 

The  hushed  news  which  Marshall  had  proffered 
with  her  morning  tea — news  given  with  the  solemn 
elation  of  one  who  at  once  supplies  bane  and 
antidote — seemed  impossible,  unbelievable. 

Arnot,  her  husband,  was  dead. 

Dead!  And  when  she  had  bidden  him  good- 
night but  a  few  hours  since  he  had  seemed  just  as 


2  The  Torch  of  Life 

usual,  just  as  he  had  always  been  in  the  ten  strange 
years  of  their  married  life. 

His  parting  words  rang  in  her  ears.  They  were 
his  usual  nightly  valediction,  uttered  then,  she 
fancied  with  a  little  prick  of  gladness,  in  a  rather 
softer  tone  than  usual. 

"Good-night,  Titian.  Go  to  bed  quickly.  You 
mustn't  lose  any  of  your  beauty  sleep. " 

Her  beauty  sleep.  Her  looks.  The  fairness 
of  the  outer  shell  was  all  that  he  had  ever  cared 
for.  An  old  resentment  surged  hotly  upwards. 
Then  she  realised  from  the  maid's  tarrying  gaze, 
that  her  hands  were  arrested  in  the  soft  masses 
of  her  hair  and  that  Marshall,  with  an  irritat- 
ing air  of  doleful  excitement,  was  still  holding 
out  the  little  green  tray  with  its  violet-sprigged 
tea-set. 

A  sudden  trembling  seized  her.  The  affrighting 
news  was  not,  could  not  be  true. 

"It's  not  true,  Marshall,"  she  cried,  shivering. 
"It's  not  true." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  is,  madam.  But  you  mustn't  fret. 
Very  quiet  and  peaceful  it  was,  Hammond  says. 
He  went  in  as  usual  with  Mr.  Fleury's  chocolate 
this  morning  and — found  him." 

"Found  him?" 

"Just  as  if  he  was  asleep.     Must  have  passed 


The  Inevitable  3 

away  quite  quiet-like."  The  woman  brought  a 
little  table  to  the  bedside  and  put  the  tray  on  it. 
She  radiated  subdued  importance.  So  rare  a 
chance  of  playing  Mercury  to  the  high  gods  had 
never  fallen  to  her  colourless  lot  before;  she 
revelled  in  its  most  minute  possibilities.  "A 
happy  release,  that's  what  it  was,  madam.  You 
mustn't  fret.  Poor  gentleman.  A  suffering  life. 
Just  as  if  he  was  asleep,  Hammond  says." 

"Did  Hammond  hear  nothing  in  the  night? 
No  stir?  No  cry?" 

"Not  a  sound,  madam.  He  went  in  and  out 
during  the  night  just  as  usual.  He  turned  him 
once,  and  the  last  time  he  was  in  before — 
Marshall  paused  to  give  the  ellipsis  its  full  grim 
significance — "  Mr.  Fleury  was  sleeping  that  peace- 
ful that  he  didn't  like  to  disturb  him. " 

1 '  Sleeping  ?     Are  you  sure  ? ' ' 

"  Sleeping  and  breathing,  madam.  As  quiet  as  a 
child,  Hammond  says.  And  then — but  won't  you 
take  your  tea?  It's  getting  cold. " 

"No.     Take  it  away.     It  would  choke  me." 

"Oh,  no,  it  won't  choke  you.  It  will  do  you 
good,"  said  Marshall,  pouring  it  out.  "There's 
nothing  like  a  cup  of  tea  when  one  is  in  trouble. " 

"A  cup  of  tea !  Oh,  Marshall ! "  Titian  gave  a 
queer  strangled  little  laugh. 


4  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Come  now,  drink  it  up."  The  woman  spoke 
as  one  would  to  a  child,  as,  in  truth,  her  mistress 
always  seemed  to  her  despite  her  twenty-nine  years. 
"It  will  do  you  good,  madam.  You  mustn't  give 
way. " 

"Give  way?"  Titian  echoed  dully. 

No,  she  would  not  give  way.  How  could  she 
give  way?  To  what  would  she  give  way?  No 
sudden  flood  of  grief  rushed  through  her  being ;  all 
the  sluice-gates  of  her  emotion  seemed  doubly, 
trebly  locked.  She  was  only  conscious  of  a 
physical  coldness  and  a  mental  numbness  which 
seemed  to  cloak  all  powers  of  perception  and  to 
stifle  feeling.  Hours  seemed  to  have  passed  since 
the  moment  of  Marshall's  chill  announcement. 
In  some  strange  way  it  seemed  as  if  she  had 
always  known  of  Arnot's  death.  Arnot,  who 
had  looked  at  her  with  his  twisted  smile  but 
ten  brief  hours  ago;  who  had  patted  her  cheek 
with  his  thin  hand  as  she  bent  over  his  couch 
to  kiss  him  "good-night,"  who  had  even  said, 
— yes,  she  suddenly  remembered  it, — "How  beau- 
tiful you  keep!"  as  he  lightly  stroked  its  creamy 
curve. 

Arnot  was  dead. 

His  crippled  thwarted  life  was  over.  He  siept 
"like  a  child" — a  child?  He  the  cynic,  the 


The  Inevitable  5 

mocker,  the  clever  man,  who  had  so  often  played 
with  her  simplicity  and  whipped  it  to  tatters 
with  the  keen  lash  of  his  tongue.  He,  who 
had  sometimes  seemed  to  draw  her  to  him  with 
the  one  hand  while  he  thrust  her  from  him  with 
the  other — he,  Arnot,  was  dead;  and  she,  with  the 
beauty  of  body  which  he  had  cherished,  and  the 
beauty  of  soul  which  he  had  ignored,  was  no 
more  to  him  now  than  the  veriest  triviality  of 
his  shed  life. 

"Do  take  your  tea,  madam,"  Marshall  urged. 

Titian  started,  shivered  again,  and,  taking 
the  cup  from  the  woman's  hand  with  a  passivity 
engendered  by  the  past  ten  years,  drank  the  tea 
obediently.  Then  she  pushed  aside  the  bedclothes 
and  thrust  out  a  reluctant  foot. 

"I  must  go.  I  must  be  there,"  she  said 
tentatively. 

Marshall  pulled  up  the  bedclothes  with  firmness. 
Bed  was  the  proper  place  for  a  widow — bed,  and 
present  invisibility. 

"No,  madam,"  she  asserted.  "Hammond  has 
done  all  that  is  necessary.  He  sent  off  at  once  for 
Dr.  Bailey  and  Mr.  Mede.  They  will  be  here 
immediately." 

Titian  looked  at  her  and  cowered  under  the  bed- 
clothes. She  felt  stricken  with  a  sudden  inexplic- 


6  The  Torch  of  Life 

able  fear,  a  sense  of  the  great  still  Presence  that 
brooded  over  the  house.  With  a  swift  longing  for 
warm  human  contact  she  put  out  her  hand  and 
caught  Marshall's  bony  one.  For  a  moment,  the 
maid  bore  her  grasp  with  embarrassment,  and  a 
hesitance  which  was  due  rather  to  an  ignorance  of 
what  was  expected  of  her  than  to  an  actual  lack 
of  sympathy. 

As  Titian  shamefacedly  withdrew  her  hand  she 
recalled  Arnot's  dictum: 

"Marshall  is  about  as  sympathetic  as  a  toad 
and  as  warm-blooded  as  a  fish,  but  damn  it  all, 
she  does  know  how  to  do  your  hair!" 

Yes,  that  was  all  that  had  mattered.  She  did 
know  how  to  do  her  hair,  and  she  was  an  expert 
face-masseuse  before  whose  touch  the  veriest 
shadow  of  a  wrinkle  fled  dismayed.  Titian  was 
not  allowed  to  indulge  in  wrinkles,  not  even  the 
tiniest  footprints  of  mirth  at  the  corners  of  her 
eyes.  Her  ten  years  of  married  life  had  not 
been  permitted  to  grave  the  faintest  line  upon 
the  exquisite  ivory  of  her  complexion.  Ten 
years  of  hoarded  youth  had  kept  her  beautiful 
contours  undiminished.  Arnot  had  been  a 
miser,  as  well  as  a  connoisseur,  of  her  beauty. 
He  had  not  allowed  her  to  spend  it  even  upon 
himself. 


The  Inevitable  7 

And  now  he  was  dead,  and  it  mattered  to  him 
no  more ! 

Suddenly  she  turned  and  buried  her  face  in 
the  pillow.  Why  did  she  think  of  these  queer 
things,  these  horrid  things  now?  Why  did  she 
not  cry?  She  ought  to  cry.  She  knew  that 
Marshall  thought  she  ought  to  cry.  Perhaps 
Marshall  thought  that  she  was  crying !  She  burned 
suddenly  with  a  sense  of  hypocrisy  as  she  heard 
the  maid  steal  from  the  room  and  shut  the  door 
softly  behind  her. 

The  autumn  sunshine  gleamed  dimly  through 
the  linen  blinds,  filling  the  room  with  a  yellowish 
twilight,  a  lifeless  glow  which  seemed  to  accentu- 
ate the  sudden  desolation. 

Outside,  in  the  air  and  light,  the  sea  crashed  with 
monotonous  recurrence  against  the  rocky  head- 
land: the  faint  hiss  of  withdrawing  waves  was 
audible  as  an  incessant  whisper.  Seagulls  screamed 
with  a  harsh  melancholy,  and  a  rising  wind, 
tinctured  with  sea-spray,  fluttered  the  blinds  to  a 
restless  tapping  and  whipped  the  window-panes 
with  long  lashes  of  Virginian  creeper,  to  which  a 
tatter  of  scarlet  leaves  still  clung. 

With  a  stifled  moan,  Titian  hid  her  hot  face 
deeper. 

Was  it  not  Arnot  himself  who  had  so  striven  to 


8  The  Torch  of  Life 

chill  her  warm  impulses  and  curb  her  springing 
emotions,  who  had  so  wrought  to  overlay  her 
budding  tendernesses  with  the  patina  of  his  own 
cynicism,  that  now  she  could  not  pay  him  even  the 
homage  of  a  tear? 


CHAPTER  II 

GREY   RETROSPECT 

A  S  she  lay  there,  trying  to  grasp  the  full  mean- 
***  ing  and  significance  of  the  incredible  thing 
which  had  happened,  her  thoughts  wandered,  as 
women's  thoughts  will  often  do,  from  the  end  to 
the  beginning. 

The  beginning?  When  does  one  begin?  she 
wondered  dully.  When  one  is  first  aware  of 
conscious  thought?  When  one  awakes  to  the 
realisation  of  one's  own  womanhood?  When 
one  loves?  When  ? 

She  had  been  a  happy  careless  child,  a  happy 
unquestioning  girl  until  she  had  met  Arnot.  Her 
curiosities  about  life  were  the  vague  unspeculative 
curiosities  of  a  child.  With  both  hands  out- 
stretched, she  had  taken,  laughing,  all  the  flower- 
gifts  of  Nature.  Of  the  fruits  of  Life's  harvest  she 
knew  nothing  and  had  sought  no  knowledge. 

Of  the  sailor  father,  the  gay  handsome  Dicky 
Bagot,  who  had  transmuted  her  inappropriate 

9 


io  The  Torch  of  Life 

name  of  Letitia  into  Titian  to  match  her  ruddy 
hair,  she  had  infrequent,  but  glorious  memories. 
He  came  in  and  out  of  her  life  like  bursts  of  sun- 
shine. Once  he  went  away  never  to  return,  and 
the  world  for  awhile  had  grown  very  dark  and 
bleak.  Then  Time,  to  youth  at  once  magician 
and  menace,  healed  the  wound  of  the  child.  Her 
mother's  wound  was  decently  hidden,  but  the 
thrust  had  cut  too  deep  for  any  ministration  of 
kindly  balm  or  anodyne.  Mrs.  Bagot  went  softly 
through  her  savourless  days  until,  having  seen 
her  child  "comfortably  settled,"  as  she  phrased 
it,  she  faded  out  of  the  life  which  had  for  her 

"but  one  last  boon  to  offer, 
And  that  was — Death! " 

With  an  extraordinary  vividness,  Titian  recalled 
her  first  sight  of  Arnot  Fleury.  Each  detail  stood 
clear  as  in  the  captured  impression  of  a  picture. 
The  sea-tang  in  the  rising  wind  emphasised  the 
reality  of  the  vision.  .  .  . 

The  coming  of  the  strange  yacht  to  the  village ; 
the  consequent  excitement;  the  golden  brilliance 
of  the  day,  the  unbelievable  blueness  of  sea  and 
sky;  the  warm  scent  of  the  furze  mingled  with  the 
salt  whiff  from  brown  nets  drying  on  the  old  stone 
pier. 


Grey  Retrospect  n 

Then  Arnot,  tall  and  dark,  clad  in  such  immacu- 
late white  as  her  unsophisticated  eyes  had  never 
seen  before,  walking  up  the  pier  with  the  Rector, 
Mr.  Gerard. 

She  remembered  how  she  had  stood  rooted  to  the 
spot  with  shyness;  how  they  had  stopped;  how 
Arnot  had  looked  at  her  when  Mr.  Gerard  effected 
the  introduction.  Even  now,  the  curious  quality 
of  his  regard,  which  had  seemed  to  lap  her  like 
soft  flames,  burned  in  her  memory. 

She  remembered,  with  a  sudden  surge  of  pity, 
the  impression  of  steel-knit  strength  that  he  had 
made  upon  her.  Steel-knit  strength!  The  incon- 
gruity of  the  phrase  smote  her. 

Poor  Arnot ! 

She  remembered  the  odd  disquieting  effect  of  his 
presence,  and  her  swift  sense  of  relief  when  the 
Rectory  gate  had  clanged  behind  him;  then  her 
equally  swift  pang  at  the  realisation  that  with  him 
had  gone  some  of  the  brilliance  of  the  day. 

She  remembered  the  quick  beating  of  her  heart 
when  she  caught  sight  of  him  in  church  on  Sunday ; 
how  a  shaft  of  sunlight,  falling  athwart  the  pew  he 
sat  in,  had  seemed  to  detach  him  from  the  rest  of 
the  congregation  and  to  emphasise  the  clearness  of 
his  profile,  the  veiled  brightness  of  his  eyes,  the 
proud,  almost  insolent  poise  of  his  head. 


12  The  Torch  of  Life 

Odd  that  it  should  be  his  physical  attributes 
which  were  so  sharply  etched  upon  her  memory, 
while  he — she  shuddered  faintly.  Of  the  man 
himself,  as  he  had  been  then,  her  impressions  were 
more  blurred.  It  was  as  if  that  period,  which 
should  have  been  her  rosetime,  an  unfadingly- 
scented  memory,  were  but  a  palimpsest  on  which 
the  inscriptions  of  the  past  ten  years  had  been 
graven  so  deeply  that  they  obliterated  the  fainter 
traceries  of  that  brief  passionate  interlude. 

She  had  been  bewildered,  swept  off  her  feet  by 
the  impetuosity  of  his  wooing.  Her  beauty,  her 
simplicity,  her  shyness,  her  ignorance,  had  all  ap- 
pealed to  the  connoisseur  in  Arnot  Fleury.  He  was 
an  epicure  of  emotions,  and  her  absolute  freshness 
savoured  of  something  hitherto  untasted.  Her 
soft  and  gracious  beauty  appealed  in  its  very 
immaturity.  For  him  should  the  bud  open,  the 
perfect  rose  unfold.  So  Love,  so  Protean  in  his 
changes,  touched  him  to  rhapsody.  Of  the  pos- 
sibilities hidden  beneath  the  lovely  surface,  he  did 
not  pause  to  think;  in  his  brief  wooing,  he  had  not 
tried  to  awaken  any  slumbering  passion.  Like  the 
gourmet  that  he  was,  he  preferred  to  prolong  his 
pleasures,  and  planned  to  teach  her  after  marriage 
how  to  love  him  in  his  own  Epicurean  fashion. 

The  munificence  of  his  settlements,  the  quick 


Grey  Retrospect  13 

decisiveness  of  his  character,  and  his  not  incon- 
siderable charm  of  manner,  drew  gentle  Mrs.  Bagot 
into  the  sphere  of  his  orbit.  With  Arnot  Fleury, 
to  want  was  to  have,  a  rule  of  life  to  which  For- 
tune had  hitherto  subscribed  with  astonishing 
docility.  Perfect  health,  a  masterful  disposition, 
a  concentrated  selfishness,  and  a  purse  into  which, 
with  due  moderation,  he  could  dip  at  will,  com- 
bined to  produce  this  somewhat  imperial  ordering 
of  his  life. 

At  thirty-two  it  was  time  to  range  oneself. 
Titian  Bagot,  the  lovely  experiment,  was  suffi- 
ciently plastic  to  be  moulded  to  what  form  he  would ; 
beneath  those  gracious  yielding  lines  must  dwell 
a  spirit  as  graciously  yielding.  So  both  plunged 
into  the  Unknown,  guided  by  the  fatal  doctrine 
of  Taking-things-for-granted. 

At  nineteen  Titian  had  been  curiously  immature. 
Her  outlook  had  been  that  of  a  child,  her  horizons 
oddly  limited  or  wrapped  in  an  impossible  golden 
haze.  She  had  walked  into  matrimony  with  the 
ignorant  courage  of  a  child;  a  little  flushed  and 
excited  at  the  possibilities  of  the  unknown,  a  little 
frightened,  perhaps,  of  the  bewildering  and  god- 
like Arnot,  but  with  all  the  simple  trust  that  her 
foolishly  sheltered  life  had  engendered  in  her. 

Her  years  had  been  full  of  reticences,  her  inno- 


14  The  Torch  of  Life 

cence  guarded  with  a  touching  unconsciousness  of 
any  possible  personal  wrong.  If  it  be  true  that 
the  Spinners  of  Destinies  laugh  at  our  tragedies 
and  weep  at  our  comedies,  with  what  silent 
laughter  must  the  Loom  of  Life  have  shaken  on 
that  fragrant  summer  morning ! 

Titian  recalled  it  all  vaguely.  She  remembered 
odd  irrelevant  incidents,  trifles  scarcely  noted  at 
the  time,  but  now  sharply  etched  upon  the  dimmer 
significance  of  the  day. 

The  mad  rapture  of  the  larks  when  she  awoke  a 
little  after  dawn ;  her  mother's  uncontrollable  out- 
burst of  weeping  after  she  had  pinned  on  her  veil ; 
the  way  the  net  had  clung  to  her  cheek  where  the 
tears  had  fallen;  the  big  velvet  bumble-bee  that 
had  blundered  into  her  wreath  as  she  went  out 
through  the  doorway;  the  detaining  touch  of  the 
Scotch-rose  bush  near  the  gate — a  touch  which  had 
torn  a  fragment  of  Arnot's  beautiful  lace,  but  which 
had  to  be  forgiven  to  the  offending  rose,  it  was  so 
pearly-pink  and  had  such  a  heavenly  smell;  the 
mote-filled  dusk  of  the  church. 

Then  Arnot's  face,  with  its  one  swift  glance  of 
enveloping  fire;  and  a  far-off  sense  of  the  tremen- 
dous import  of  the  vows  she  was  so  lightly  making 
before  God  and  man. 

She  remembered  vaguely  the  reassuring  pressure 


Grey  Retrospect  15 

of  Arnot's  hand,  the  brief  rapture  of  a  kiss,  the  new 
and  developing  sense  of  importance,  the  excite- 
ment and  delight  of  the  journey,  the  dainty 
appointments  of  the  carriage  which  had  met  them 
at  the  railway  station.  She  could  almost  hear  the 
ticking  of  its  silver  clock,  almost  smell  the  perfume 
of  the  tuberoses  in  their  silver  vase.  To  this  day 
the  scent  of  tuberoses  gave  her  a  sick  shudder  of 
horror ....  They  were  to  drive  across  London 
to  catch  the  Continental  Express:  she  was  to  see 
all  the  lovely  dream-places  of  the  world.  The 
dream  had  already  begun;  she  remembered  the 
quick  impulse  of  gratitude  which  had  prompted  her 
to  slip  her  hand  into  her  husband's ;  out  of  the  mists 
of  the  past  stabbed  the  recollection  of  his  passion- 
ate response. 

"My  God,  how  lovely  you  are!"  he  had 
whispered. 

Then  with  the  swift  horror  of  the  unexpected  had 
come  the  cataclysm.  No  one  knew  exactly  how 
it  had  happened.  Titian  retained  a  confused 
memory  of  a  crash,  the  plunging  of  hoofs,  a  violent 
blow,  and  then  darkness. 

When  she  emerged  once  more  into  the  light,  it 
was  to  find  that  Arnot  had  sustained  such  severe 
spinal  injuries  that  his  life  was  despaired  of. 
Then,  when  the  cloud  of  desolation  which  darkened 


16  The  Torch  of  Life 

her  young  days  was  lifted  a  little,  and  the  doctors 
told  her  that  he  would  live,  but  only  as  a  hopeless 
cripple,  paralysed  from  the  waist  downwards,  the 
bitterness  of  his  despair,  the  wild  rancour  of  his 
railing  awoke  her  once  for  all  from  her  iris-tinted 
dreaming,  and  set  her  feet  in  the  path  of  grey 
reality. 

Poor  Arnot!  How  all  her  warm  impulses  had 
surged  toward  him!  How  she  had  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  do  even  the  smallest  service  for  him ! 

But  the  nurses  had  kept  her  tactfully  away. 
The  sight  of  her  excited  and  irritated  him;  she 
belonged  to  a  past  which  had  slipped  for  ever  from 
his  grasp;  ill  though  he  was,  her  presence  awoke 
in  him  the  torments  of  Tantalus. 

Titian,  all  unwitting,  wept  bitter  tears  over  her 
exclusion  from  his  room.  Her  mother,  who  had 
hastened,  bewildered,  from  her  solitudes,  had  no 
comfort  for  her.  Her  councils  seemed  to  the  girl 
tepid,  almost  platitudinous;  she  had  no  concep- 
tion of  her  daughter's  mental  awakening,  of  the 
chasm  between  life  and  life  which  she  had  bridged 
with  a  single  step.  Life  had  given  her  no  con- 
ception of  such  an  upheaval  as  that  which  had 
happened  to  Titian ;  she  could  only  urge  patience, 
and  again  patience,  and  a  remembrance  of  her 
duty. 


Grey  Retrospect  17 

"For  better,  for  worse,  you  know,  my  dear.  In 
sickness  and  in  health." 

Down  the  vista  of  years  echoed  the  deprecating 
murmur  and  her  own  impatient  reply : 

"Yes,  of  course,  I  know.  But  what's  the  use  of 
promising  that  when  I  am  kept  away  from  him  in 
sickness,  when  I  am  not  allowed  to  go  near  him, 
or  do  anything  for  him?" 

"Be  patient,  he  is  not  himself  yet.  They  say 
that  it  excited  him  to  see  you.  Later  on,  when 
he  is  better,  he  will  want  you. " 

But  had  he?  There,  packed  into  the  space  of 
five  brief  words  lay  the  tragedy  of  Titian  Fleury's 
life.  He  had  never  wanted  her. 

"You  do  not  understand  men,  my  dear,"  went 
on  the  gentle  creature,  who  had  only  half  com- 
prehended the  one  of  whom  she  had  always  been 
an  adoring  echo. 

It  was  too  true.  Titian  did  not  understand  men, 
or  women,  or  life,  or  reality,  or  any  of  the  great 
essentials,  as  she  suddenly  realised  with  a  pang  of 
despairing  impotence. 

Then  out  of  the  grey  welter  of  those  nightmare 
days  emerged  a  comforting  vision,  the  recollection 
of  the  coming  of  Arnot's  cousin,  Fenton  Mede: 
a  big  silent  man,  who  seemed  to  understand  with- 
out words,  whose  presence  seemed  to  radiate  com- 


i8  The  Torch  of  Life 

fort,  and  whose  strong  hands  gradually  drew  order 
out  of  chaos. 

Fenton  Mede,  Fenty  the  reliable,  as  Arnot 
always  called  him.  They  had  become  fast  friends 
at  once.  She  leaned  on  him  as  instinctively  as 
she  might  have  leant  on  the  father  who  was  but  a 
joyous  memory. 

It  was  Fenton  who  had  persuaded  Arnot  to  let 
her  come  into  his  room,  who  had  invented  little 
special  services  for  her  to  do  for  him,  who 
had  brought  rare  flowers  for  her  to  arrange,  odd 
books  for  her  to  read  to  him  when  he  could  en- 
dure to  be  read  to.  All  the  alleviations  of  those 
first  strained  awkward  days  had  come  through 
Fenton  Mede. 

Dear  old  Fenty! 

A  spring  of  gratitude  welled  in  her  heart  at  the 
thought  of  him. 

Mercifully  he  was  at  home  now,  and  Hammond 
had  sent  for  him.  He  would  soon  be  here,  he 
would  know  what  to  do:  she  could  grasp  his  kind 
hand,  his  kind,  warm  hand. 

At  the  thought  an  inexplicable  rush  of  loneli- 
ness flooded  her;  and  the  chill  sense  of  desolation 
pressed  upon  her  like  a  tangible  weight.  How 
alone  she  was!  How  terribly  alone!  Nobody 
needed  her,  nobody  wanted  her.  Even  to  Arnot 


Grey  Retrospect  19 

his  man  Hammond  had  been  more  necessary  than 
she,  his  wife! 

His  wife!  The  mockery  of  the  name  still  had 
power  to  prick.  She  thought  that  she  had  got 
used  to  it,  that  the  past  ten  years  had  schooled 
her  to  an  apathetic  acceptance  of  the  inevitable. 
She  had  earnestly  cultivated  a  placid  calm,  a 
Buddha-like  passivity.  No  emotions  were  al- 
lowed to  trace  even  a  gossamer  line  on  her  face  or 
to  shadow  her  tranquil  eyes — eyes,  she  had  once 
thought  bitterly,  which  owned  no  deeper  expres- 
sion than  those  of  a  cow! 

But  that  was  what  Arnot  had  desired,  and  her 
chief  duty  in  life  had  been  to  please  him.  What 
that  duty  had  cost  her  she  had  never  dared  to  ask. 


CHAPTER  III 
PANDORA'S  BOX 

A  S  she  lay  in  the  great  carved  bed,  hot-eyed 
/*  and  tearless,  staring  at  the  flapping  yellow 
blind,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  news  of  Arnot's 
death  had  set  Pandora-fingers  at  the  secret  casket 
of  her  pent  bitternesses  and  loosed  them  about 
her  in  a  bat-winged  cloud. 

The  memory  of  the  months  which  followed 
Arnot's  accident  melted  into  the  grey  years  of  her 
life  at  Camus,  this  old  rock-perched  castle  of  his, 
to  which  he  had  been  moved  when  transfer  became 
possible.  From  the  first,  Titian  had  loved  its 
peaceful  stateliness.  The  place  seemed  to  radiate 
an  atmosphere  of  quietude  and  dignity  after  the 
undercurrent  of  fuss  and  busy  life  at  the  Nursing- 
Home;  and  the  subdued  richness  of  its  furnishing 
appealed  to  some  inner  sense  of  beauty  in  the  girl, 
which  had  lain  dormant  in  the  simplicity  of  her 
earlier  home  life. 

20 


Pandora's  Box  21 

The  first  time  she  had  seen  Camus.  That  was 
one  of  the  memories. 

After  the  journey  had  come  the  swift  drive  past 
upland  and  valley,  through  thatched  village  and 
stunted,  wind-trimmed  wood,  to  the  lichened 
castle  perched  upon  the  bold  red  headland  which 
guarded  one  horn  of  the  bay. 

How  wearisomely  familiar  that  drive  was  to 
become !  Every  stone  on  the  road  she  knew,  every 
stain  on  the  cottages'  walls,  every  crooked  spine  of 
thorn-bush,  whether  etched,  bare  and  black,  upon 
a  ruddy  winter  sky  or  foamed  with  bridal  white- 
ness against  the  blue  of  spring. 

The  motor-car  which  had  taken  Arnot  and  his 
attendants  had  started  before  their  carriage,  and 
the  crippled  master  had  been  installed  in  his  own 
room  before  they  arrived. 

It  was  Fenton  who  had  met  them  on  the 
threshold ;  who  had  welcomed  Titian  to  her  future 
home.  The  reliable  Fenty,  so  unlike  the  wonder- 
ful lover  who  had  rushed  her  into  this  amazing 
marriage,  and  who  seemed  to  have  vanished  ir- 
revocably in  the  shock  of  the  fatal  collision. 

She  remembered  the  pang  it  had  given  her  to  see 
the  inevitable  substitution : — the  big,  rather  heavy 
figure  instead  of  the  clean-knit,  alert  one,  the 
roughish  fair  hair  and  bearded  face  instead  of 


22  The  Torch  of  Life 

the  clear-cut  features  and  proudly  poised  head,  the 
kind  glance  of  sleepy  blue  eyes  instead  of  the  look 
that  had  made  her  tremble  so  deliciously. 

And  then  to  think  of  the  pitiful  wreck  upstairs, 
over  whom  her  heart  yearned  with  something  that 
was  at  least  akin  to  the  Great  Reality!  Still, 
Youth  to  whom  all  things  are  possible,  had  been 
hers,  and,  in  Pandora's  box  Hope  spread  her 
iridescent  wings  so  wide  that  there  was  little  room 
for  creeping  miseries. 

She  had  no  response  for  Fenton's  somewhat 
huskily-given  greeting: 

"  Arnot  says  that  I  am  to  welcome  you  home  for 
him.  It's  cruelly  hard  that  he  can't  do  it  himself." 

Yes,  it  was, — cruelly  hard. 

Tears  welled  into  her  eyes  as  she  brushed 
hurriedly  past  Fenton  into  the  hall.  She  could 
not  speak;  she  had  no  control  over  her  voice; 
but  he  had  understood.  She  knew  that.  It  was 
one  of  Fenton's  good  points;  he  always  under- 
stood, or  nearly  always.  Little  incidents  some- 
times cropped  up  in  which  he  had  sided  with  Arnot, 
when  all  his  pity  and  sympathy  had  been  for  him 
and  not  for  her;  moments  in  which  Fenty  had  been 
irritating,  even  exasperating,  but  they  were  rare. 

It  was  Mrs.  Bagot  who  had  ventured  a  timid: 
"How  is  he?" 


Pandora's  Box  23 

"He  has  borne  the  journey  wonderfully  well. 
He  is  in  bed  now.  Nurse  and  Hammond  are  with 
him." 

"What  a  blessing!"  Mrs.  Bagot  had  murmured, 
but  whether  the  benediction  referred  to  the  success 
of  the  journey  or  the  fact  of  Arnot's  being  in  bed, 
or  expressed  an  inner  relief  at  the  thought  that 
anyone  should  be  with  her  son-in-law  rather  than 
herself,  nobody  tried  to  determine. 

She  had  stood  rather  in  awe  of  Arnot  in  masterful 
health.  For  Arnot,  broken  in  body  and  mind,  her 
feeling  almost  amounted  to  terror. 

Later,  Titian  had  seen  her  room  for  the  first 
time — her  beautiful  room  whose  charms  had  long 
since  merged  into  the  commonplace  of  familiarity; 
whose  unusual  yet  lovely  decorations  of  palest 
yellow,  burnt  rose,  and  carved  oak  served  as 
fitting  frame  for  her  own  beauty. 

It  was  in  the  west  wing  of  the  castle.  One 
window  looked  out  over  the  open  sea;  the  others 
faced  the  sandy  curve  of  the  bay,  with  the  village 
clustering  along  its  margin  and  climbing  up  the  low 
brow  of  the  opposite  cliff.  Camus  had  the  left 
horn  of  the  crescent  all  to  itself.  The  village 
began  tentatively  at  the  landward  end  and  drew 
away  in  a  thicker  huddle  at  the  other  side. 

The  squat  church  tower  thrust  itself  bluntly 


24  The  Torch  of  Life 

through  a  knot  of  wind-shorn  trees.  How  often 
had  she  seen  its  lit  windows  gleam  like  dim  jewels 
through  the  darkness  of  winter  evenings!  How 
often  had  she  watched  the  twinkling  lights  of  the 
village  leap  across  the  dusk — each  orange  square 
typifying  the  glowing  centre  of  a  home. 

She  remembered  her  vague  wonderings  as  to 
what  life  would  bring  to  her  on  this  red  rock. 
Solitude  had  no  terrors  for  her  as  yet ;  her  days  in 
her  own  little  village  had  been  sun-filled  and 
happy,  although  she  had  had  no  companions 
of  her  own  years.  If  Arnot  grew  stronger — and 
happier — and  needed  her  more —  Vividly  she 
recalled  her  trailing  thoughts,  which  had  been 
scattered  suddenly  by  the  entrance  of  a  maid 
with  tea.  Not  Marshall,  no,  Marshall  had 
been  the  outcome  of  later,  more  critical  days — 
days  of  reddening  shame  and  swift  hidden  rebel- 
lions. 

Verily  to-day  Pandora's  box  had  been  set  open 
wide. 

She  remembered  the  refusal  of  her  request  to  be 
allowed  to  go  to  Arnot;  she  could  see  across  the 
past  the  half -pitying,  half -critical  look  in  Fenton's 
eyes  as  he  offered  the  usual  sop. 

"He  is  too  tired  to-night.    Perhaps  to-morrow 


Pandora's  Box  25 

"But  if  I  stole  in,  it  could  not  possibly  disturb 
him." 

"He  might  rouse.  It  might  excite  him  and  spoil 
his  sleep.  Perhaps  to-morrow " 

Perhaps  to-morrow!  That  was  what  it  had 
always  been. 

"When  another  day  is  come,  lo,  we  have  already 
spent  yesterday's  to-morrow,"  said  a  wise  Latin 
once.  No  one  seemed  to  think  of  that. 

Some  quick  retort  sprang  for  utterance,  but  she 
closed  her  soft  lips  upon  it  as  she  took  her  seat  at 
the  head  of  the  table.  Her  own  table.  Her  own 
strangely  beautiful  table.  She  studied  it  with  a 
sense  of  wonder  as  her  mother  and  Fenton  kept 
up  a  desultory  conversation.  It  had  lost  the 
charm  of  novelty  by  this,  but  it  never  failed  to 
arouse  a  faint  feeling  of  pleasure  in  what  still 
seemed  to  her  its  peculiar  perfection. 

The  strips  of  finest  linen  and  Venetian  lace 
showing  glimpses  of  the  polished  oak  beneath,  the 
tall  Venetian  vases  with  cascades  of  white,  or  pink, 
or  lavender  orchids  spraying  over  gold-flecked 
dragons,  the  twisted  silver  candelabra  thrusting 
upwards  clusters  of  white  candles  which  blossomed 
into  golden  flame,  the  silver  salt-cellars  whose 
clasping  sea-nymphs  Cellini  himself  might  have 
fashioned,  the  Venetian  beakers  filled  with  ruddy 


26  The  Torch  of  Life 

or  golden  wine,  the  glasses  fragile  and  iridescent 
as  foam-bubbles,  the  piled  fruit  in  pierced  silver 
baskets. 

Everywhere  a  subdued  richness,  a  delicacy,  a 
fastidiousness,  which  affected  her  as  subtly  as 
some  strange  perfume  might  have  done. 

But  through  it  all,  as  beneath  all  other  sounds 
beat  the  incessant  pulse  of  the  sea,  surged  a  sore 
sense  of  loss,  of  disappointment. 

Some  fragment  of  conversation  recaptured  her 
wandering  thoughts — the  echoing  of  the  fatal  word 
"to-morrow,"  but  used  in  reference  to  other  than 
herself. 

"  No,  I'm  not  going  until  to-morrow, "  she  heard 
Fenton  say. 

"You're  not  going  away?"  she  cried  quickly, 
almost  turning  the  question  into  an  assertion. 

"I'm  not  going  very  far, "  he  answered,  with  his 
slow  smile. 

"But  why ?     But  where ? ' ' 

He  ignored  the  first  query  and  answered  the 
second. 

"I  must  go  to  look  after  my  own  small  prop- 
erty." 

"What  will  Arnot  do  without  you?" 

"  He  won't  be  obliged  to  do  without  me.  I  warn 
you  that  you'll  be  sick  of  the  sight  of  me. " 


Pandora's  Box  27 

"  Oh,  no, "  interposed  Mrs.  Bagot,  to  whom  man 
in  general  represented  the  universe  and  man  in 
particular,  as  in  the  present  instance,  a  straw  to  be 
snatched  at  by  the  drowning. 

"Is  your  place  far  from  this?"  Titian  asked. 

"A  crow-flight  of  five  miles,  six  by  the  road. 
That  means  being  almost  in  your  pocket  as  dis- 
tances go  in  the  country." 

"It's  a  pleasant  surprise  to  find  that  you  are  so 
near  a  neighbour,"  said  Mrs.  Bagot.  "Some- 
body, I  forget  who  it  was,  said  that  you  spent  most 
of  your  time  abroad. " 

"Soldo." 

"What  a  pity!"  went  on  the  gentle  lady,  pur- 
suing her  own  train  of  thought. 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  I  was  only  thinking  what  a  pity  it  is  that 
you  should  spend  your  time  in  wandering  over  the 
globe  when  you  might  marry  and  settle  down 
happily  in  this  charming  country-side." 

With  the  cessation  of  her  trickle  of  words  came  a 
pause.  Not  the  dull  heavy  pause  which  sometimes 
checks  and  lies  upon  conversation,  but  a  sharp- 
edged  significant  pause  which  held  discomfort  in 
its  brief  duration.  Fenton  suddenly  ended  it. 

"I  am  married,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  I 
do  not  settle  down  here. " 


28  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bagot,  checked  by 
something  in  his  tone. 

A  suggestion  of  hidden  tragedy  rang  through 
the  terse  announcement. 

With  her  first  conscious  effort  at  social  duty, 
Titian  tried  to  rise  to  the  occasion  as  hostess, 
saying,  in  a  soft  way  which  Fenton  never  forgot, 
how  wise  she  thought  he  was  to  see  as  much  of  the 
world  as  he  could. 

Responsive  to  her  effort,  he  became  unusually 
conversational.  He  told  them  something  about 
his  hobby,  bird  photography,  and  how  he  pursued 
it  in  many  strange  and  distant  places. 

Titian  could  associate  patience  but  not  energy 
with  this  big,  rather  lazy-looking  man,  and  yet 
the  recital  of  some  of  his  adventures  implied  the 
possession  of  unusual  vigour  and  endurance.  She 
could  still  less  associate  tragedy  with  so  slow  and 
sleepy-eyed  an  individual,  and  yet — something 
beyond  her  ken  had  certainly  rung  in  his  tones, 
had  flashed  across  his  face  for  one  lightning 
instant. 

The  leaves  of  the  Book  of  Life  were  fluttering  in 
her  fingers,  and  the  very  first  pages  puzzled  her. 

So  life  at  Camus  had  begun ;  and  after  a  period 
of  alternating  reactions,  day  linked  itself  with  day 
into  an  unending  chain  of  routine. 


Pandora's  Box  29 

First  there  had  been  the  shock  of  her  mother's 
death.  One  night  in  her  sleep,  Mrs.  Bagot  had 
slipped  into  the  Great  Shadow,  never  to  return, 
and  Titian  had  mourned  her  long  and  sorrow- 
fully. 

Then  there  had  been  the  fluctuations  of  Arnot's 
health;  until,  growing  physically  stronger,  he  had 
emerged  from  the  anxious  stages  to  the  settled 
monotony  of  invalidism.  On  fine  days,  he  was 
wheeled  on  to  the  terrace  which  spread  its  paved 
length  along  the  western  and  southern  sides  of  the 
castle,  or  into  the  walled  garden,  where  all  sorts 
of  semi-tropical  plants  and  shrubs  throve  and 
flourished  in  the  mild  sea  air.  The  high  mossy 
walls  gave  no  more  indication  of  the  treasures 
which  they  enclosed  than  did  the  grim  weather- 
worn exterior  of  the  castle. 

Although  motor-car  and  carriage  were  there  for 
his  pleasure,  Arnot  refused  to  go  outside  his  own 
domain. 

"If  it  is  my  Vatican,"  he  said  bitterly  one  day, 
"  I  reign  absolutely  here.  I  am  not  going  out  to  be 
a  raree-show  for  the  country-side." 

When  visitors,  few  in  that  lonely  place,  called, 
he  would  not  see  them,  and  sent  Titian  alone  to 
return  the  visits,  which  were  rarely  repeated. 

"They  only  come  out  of  curiosity,"  he  said. 


30  The  Torch  of  Life 

"They  want  to  see  what  the  wreck  of  a  man  is 
like,  and  what  type  of  fool  he  married. " 

It  was  difficult  to  become  used  to  such  speeches, 
impossible  to  foresee  what  might  evoke  them. 

Titian  sometimes  wondered,  until  her  temples 
throbbed,  where  the  lover  of  those  magic  weeks  had 
gone?  Why,  if  he  cared  at  all  for  her  then,  should 
he  repulse  and  gibe  at  her  now?  What  could  the 
quality  of  the  love  have  been  if  it  changed  so  woe- 
fully at  the  breath  of  calamity?  She  was  the  same 
Titian,  only  that  now  she  was  his  wife.  Was  it 
marriage  which  had  made  the  cruel  alteration? 
she  wondered  innocently.  She  longed  to  be  of 
use  to  him.  She  tried  to  serve  him  in  all  sorts  of 
tentative  pathetic  ways. 

Once,  when  after  summoning  up  her  courage  she 
descended  to  the  kitchen  to  make  little  dainties 
for  him,  and  brought  him  the  result,  his  thin 
laughter  lashed  her  like  a  whip. 

"My  dear  girl,"  he  said,  and  the  phrase  held 
more  of  sarcasm  than  affection,  "please  under- 
stand that  I  infinitely  prefer  the  skilled  productions 
of  a  paid  professional  to  the  efforts  of  the  unwary 
amateur,  however  well-intentioned." 

"  Mother  used  to  like  my  creams, "  she  faltered, 
wounded,  but  trying  to  be  patient  with  him. 
"I  thought " 


Pandora's  Box  31 

"I  am  not  your  lamented  mother,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  with  his  piercing  gaze; — no  flame 
now, but  a  rapier,  seeking  for  opportunity  to  thrust. 
"What  business  have  beautiful  fools  to  think? 
Thinking's  damnable.  Damnable.  You  are  better 
without  thoughts.  Thoughts  are  toll-free  but  not 
hell-free,  curse  them!" 

"Why  do  you  call  me  a  fool  so  often?  "  she  asked 
with  a  show  of  spirit,  although  her  lips  trembled. 
"It  hurts,  and  I  don't  think  I  deserve  it." 

She  remembered  how  his  face  had  twisted,  but 
his  voice  had  not  softened  as  he  answered : 

"Don't  you  think  you've  earned  the  title  by 
marrying  me?" 

"I  begin  to  think  I  have,"  she  answered,  wear- 
ing her  pride  until  she  had  escaped  from  his 
scrutiny  into  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room,  where 
it  fell  from  her  like  a  dropped  mantle,  leaving 
unsheltered  a  bewildered  and  unhappy  girl. 

When  the  nurse  had  been  dispensed  with, 
certain  duties  had  devolved  upon  her,  but  they 
were  as  few  and  as  light  as  possible.  Hammond 
became  indispensable ;  Hammond,  the  thin-lipped, 
deft-handed  attendant.  Silent-footed,  too,  for, 
obeying  childhood's  admonition,  he  was  generally 
seen  before  he  was  heard.  Titian  often  wondered 
if  he  ever  said  anything  but  "yes"  or  "no";  but 


32  The  Torch  of  Life 

concluded  that  he  must  talk  to  Arnot  when  she  was 
not  present,  for  sometimes  her  husband  quoted 
him. 

"Hammond  says  this,  or  Hammond  says  that." 

If  Arnot  were  monarch  of  his  spray-blown  realm, 
then  assuredly  Hammond  was  his  Grand  Vizier. 
Orders  filtered  through  him.  It  was — "I  have 
told  Hammond;  he  will  see  to  it."  "Don't 
bother.  Hammond  will  manage; — "  until  some- 
times she  had  an  odd  fancy  that  it  was  Hammond 
who  really  held  the  reins,  while  Arnot  only  wielded 
the  whip. 

When  Arnot  had  complained  of  her  maid's  in- 
capacity, it  was  Hammond  who  found  and  pro- 
duced Marshall,  and  it  was  the  same  in  other 
emergencies.  Hammond  was  always  resourceful. 
If  anything  was  wanted  it  was:  "Ask  Hammond. " 
And  to  give  him  his  due,  Hammond  rarely  failed 
to  rise  to  the  occasion. 

His  devotion  to  his  master  was  unstinted; 
he  never  spared  himself  day  or  night.  Titian 
sometimes  blamed  herself  for  not  liking  him 
better. 

On  his  bad  days,  Arnot  could  not  endure  her 
presence,  and  she  spent  long  lonely  hours  in 
wandering  about  the  cliffs  or  in  striving  to  forget 
the  unhappiness  against  which  she  daily  fought,  by 


Pandora's  Box  33 

going  down  to  the  village  and  trying  to  make 
friends  with  the  people. 

By  what  strange  magic  had  the  accident  dis- 
torted Arnot's  feeling  for  her  as  well  as  his  poor 
body?  Sometimes  he  looked  at  her  almost  as  if 
he  hated  her,  while  at  other  times  his  glance  swept 
her  with  its  old  enveloping  fire.  But  behind  the 
fire  burned  something  from  which  she  instinctively 
shrank,  and  no  knowledge,  acquired  or  imparted, 
told  her  what  it  was. 

In  her  cloistered  upbringing,  innocence  had 
implied  ignorance,  and  to  shield  that  innocence  at 
any  cost  had  been  her  mother's  dearest  task.  The 
consequence  was  that  Titian  Fleury  at  twenty  was 
as  ignorant  of  life  and  its  meaning  as  Titian  Bagot 
had  been  at  thirteen. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  PHASE  PITILESS 

r~PHE  period  which  had  followed  Fenton's 
*  first  long  absence  showed  kaleidoscopic  in 
Titian's  memory — a  jumble  of  oddly-shaped, 
crudely-coloured  reminiscences,  violent  in  hue, 
and  shaken  continuously  from  one  restless  pattern 
to  another,  each  angular  and  with  points  that 
pricked. 

The  time  after  his  return  seemed  almost  happy 
in  contrast. 

Arnot's  tongue  had  never  so  sharp  an  edge  in  his 
cousin's  presence,  nor  did  the  lambent  fire  of  his 
sarcasm  play  so  frequently  about  his  wife.  Some- 
times Fenton  wheeled  him  along  the  terrace  and 
told  fragmentary  stories  of  his  adventures  with 
the  camera;  sometimes  they  halted  by  one  of  the 
carved  stone  benches,  and  Fenton  would  pull  some 
little  vellum-covered  volume  from  his  pocket  and 
bid  Titian  read  for  a  while. 

34 


The  Phase  Pitiless  35 

Her  voice  was  soft  and  pleasantly  modulated, 
and,  as  she  had  often  read  for  her  mother,  the  task 
did  not  induce  the  self -consciousness  of  a  novel 
effort. 

Once  Fenton  had  asked  her  to  sing.  She  never 
forgot  the  incident. 

"Your  voice  sounds  so  musical  when  you  read, " 
he  said  in  his  kindly  way,  "that  I  am  sure  you  can 
sing.  Can  she,  Arnot?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  should  think  not,"  Arnot 
answered,  smiling  disagreeably. 

Titian,  anxious  to  please,  responded  rather 
uncertainly:  "I  can  sing  a  little.  I  always  used 
to  sing  in  the  choir  at  home. " 

She  could  almost  hear  the  tang  in  Arnot's  voice. 

"Ah,  the  choir!     Pray  delight  us,  my  dear." 

A  little  shyly,  but  very  simply  and  naturally,  she 
lifted  her  head  and  sang  an  old-fashioned  ditty, 
Kirtle  Red,  but  before  she  was  able  to  finish  the 
second  verse  Arnot  shrieked  and  put  his  fingers  in 
his  ears. 

"No  more  music-murder,  please." 

She  stopped  abruptly,  and  looked  away  to  sea, 
biting  her  lip  to  still  its  trembling.  The  onslaught 
had  been  so  sudden,  so  cruel,  that  a  slow  tear 
forced  its  way  down  her  averted  face. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  connoisseur," 


36  The  Torch  of  Life 

Fenton  said  sternly,  as  he  got  up  and  wheeled  the 
chair  farther  along  the  terrace. 

Arnot's  words  came  back  to  her. 

"But,  my  dear  Fenty,  her  voice  is  like  a  bellows 
with  the  air  escaping.  Untaught.  Horrible." 

"I  thought  it  was  very  soft  and  sweet." 

"But  you  are  no  musician,  my  good  cousin." 

Titian  thought  she  heard  him  ejaculate:  "So 
much  the  better  for  me,  perhaps!"  but  she  could 
not  be  sure,  and  the  episode  had  ended. 

She  had  never  sung  again,  save  at  the  services  at 
the  squat-towered  church,  where  she  had  a  happy 
consciousness  that  God  would  not  object  to  the 
huskiness  of  her  voice  if  the  spirit  which  rang 
through  it  were  pure  and  true. 

Arnot  had  at  first  laughed  at  her  desire  to  go  to 
church;  then  he  had  bidden  her:  "Go,  by  all 
means,  if  it  amuses  you,  but  don't  let  any  parsons 
near  me.  I  don't  want  any  spiritual  spring- 
cleaning  at  Camus. " 

"Don't  you?"  she  had  asked,  and  thought  that 
his  look  answered  her  with  a  sharp  scrutiny. 

Truth  to  tell,  in  those  days  she  puzzled  him. 
He  began  to  realise  that  she  was  not  the  simple 
fool  he  had  taken  her  to  be. 

So  she  went  twice  to  church  every  Sunday,  and 
tried  honestly  to  be  "joyful  in  the  Lord"  when 


The  Phase  Pitiless  37 

circumstances  seemed  to  offer  but  little  occasion 
for  rejoicing; — and  she  sang  in  due  season,  in  her 
soft  husky  voice,  the  rapturous : 

"  Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates, 
And  be  ye  lift  up,  ye  everlasting  doors, 
And  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come  in. 

Who  is  the  King  of  Glory? 
Even  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
He  is  the  King  of  Glory, " 

and  felt  vaguely  comforted. 

Once  she  had  touched  upon  the  hidden  tragedy 
of  Fenton's  life. 

Arnot,  after  one  of  his  visits,  had  been  softened 
and  reminiscent,  and  had  spoken  of  his  early  boy- 
hood, an  unusual  expansion  for  him. 

"  I  was  chucked  on  the  world  at  an  uncommonly 
early  age.  It  made  me  a  hard  little  beggar.  Only 
for  the  Medes  I  might  have  gone  to  the  bad 
altogether. " 

"How  many  of  them  were  there?"  Titian 
ventured  to  ask.  As  a  rule,  he  resented  being 
questioned. 

"A  little  French  family,  Uncle  Robert,  Aunt 
Margaret,  Fenton,  and  Mollie.  Their  place  was 
the  only  home  I  ever  knew.  I  used  to  go  there 
tor  the  holidays." 


38  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Where  are  they  now?" 

"Scattered  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,"  said 
Arnot  hardly.  "Uncle  Robert  broke  his  neck  out 
hunting,  Aunt  Margaret  died  a  few  years  after. 
Mollie  is  married  and  highly  disapproves  of  me 
now,  and  Fenton  dragged  his  anchor  in  his  youth, 
and  sails  about  from  harbour  to  harbour." 

"What  happened  to  Fenton?" 

"Ask  him,"  said  Arnot,  his  eyes  on  her  face. 

"He  told  us  that  he  was  married." 

"The  deuce  he  did!"  Surprise  sharpened  his 
tones.  "  I  didn't  think  he  ever  spoke  of  it. " 

"It  was  on  the  night  we  came  here.  He  just 
said  that  he  was  married  in  answer  to  some  remark 
of  mother's.  Is  there  a  mystery  about  it?  You 
might  tell  me,  Arnot.  I  don't  ask  out  of  mere 
curiosity." 

"Oh,  don't  you,  Eve?  Well,  for  once  the  apple 
is  mine  and  I  refuse  to  give  you  even  a  bite  of  it. 
It's  a  nasty  sour  apple,  not  good  for  little  girls. " 

"If  it  were  really  sour  I  believe  you'd  give  it  to 
me  just  for  the  pleasure  of  setting  my  teeth  on 
edge,"  she  cried,  exasperated. 

"Very  well,  then.  It's  Dead  Sea  fruit  and  will 
turn  to  ashes  in  your  mouth, "  he  answered,  sober- 
ing suddenly.  "His  wife  is  in  a  lunatic  asylum. 
It's  nothing  to  wag  tongues  about. " 


The  Phase  Pitiless  39 

"To  whom  could  I  mention  it,  even  if  I  had  the 
opportunity?"  she  asked. 

Since  then  she  had  felt  a  deep  sympathy  for 
Fenton,  although  he  seemed  to  be  quite  happy  and 
contented,  and  was  the  last  person  in  the  world 
with  whom  one  would  associate  the  tragedy  of  a 
broken  life. 

The  days  of  his  sojourning  at  Belfield  were 
indeed  red-letter  days.  When  they  fell  in  summer, 
he  would  sometimes  take  her  sailing  round  the 
coast  in  his  little  yacht.  Once  or  twice,  on  a  blue 
summer  day,  a  seal  had  followed  them  through  the 
water,  pushing  up  its  shiny  wet  head,  sniffing, 
and  staring  at  them  with  its  round  black  eyes, 
then  suddenly  diving  out  of  sight,  to  reappear 
later  as  if  in  answer  to  Fenton 's  soft  whistle. 

Sometimes  he  took  her  across  the  cliffs  to  some 
far  strand  or  cave  to  show  her  where  he  got  some 
of  his  photographs  of  sea-birds.  Once  she  got 
inside  the  artificial  rock  which  concealed  him  and 
his  camera,  and  which  he  was  able  day  by  day  to 
push  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  unsuspecting  birds. 
She  thought  it  felt  very  hot  and  stuffy,  and  she 
wondered  anew  at  his  patience.  He  told  her  the 
names  of  the  different  gulls  and  sea-birds,  only  to 
find  that  she  knew  them  as  well  as  he  did :  gannets, 
guillemots,  cormorants,  kittiwakes,  muirs,  puffins, 


4Q  The  Torch  of  Life 

terns,  sea-crows,  dunlins,  curlews,  sand-pipers, 
whimbrels.  She  remembered  his  face  of  astonish- 
ment when  she  had  rattled  them  off,  and  how  he 
had  made  her  substantiate  her  claim  to  knowledge 
by  pointing  out  to  him  each  specimen  as  she 
recognised  it. 

It  was  she  who  had  found  the  blue-tit's  nest  in 
the  far  wall  of  the  garden,  and  had  helped  him  to  get 
some  admirable  pictures  of  the  tiny  shrill-sweet 
chirping  family.  It  was  she  who  had  pointed  out 
to  him  a  gorged  sparrow-hawk  upon  the  gate-post 
of  the  courtyard,  and  enabled  him  to  get  what  was, 
for  him,  a  unique  series  of  photographs.  It  was 
she  who  had  found  and  shown  him  a  special 
haunt  of  the  black-backed  gulls,  great  soaring 
creatures  that  looked  as  if  a  feather  from  the 
wing  of  night  had  fallen  across  the  broad  sweep 
of  their  wings. 

But  these  good  days  were  few  and  far  between, 
for  Arnot  was  jealous  of  Fenton's  society  and 
grudged  the  time  he  spent  with  Titian. 

When  Fenton  came  to  Belfield  in  the  winter,  and 
the  sea  outside  raged  and  crashed  upon  the  rocks, 
and  the  wind  howled  around  the  castle  and  dimmed 
the  windows  with  the  salt  spray,  the  trio  in 
Arnot's  room  spent  days  of  comparative  peace. 
Arnot's  nerves  were  always  ready  to  be  jarred,  but 


The  Phase  Pitiless  41 

Fenton  had  a  calming  influence  upon  him.  Some 
sudden  whim  prompted  him  to  take  up  painting 
again.  He  had  once  sketched  quite  creditably 
in  water-colours.  Now  the  fancy  took  him  to  copy 
some  of  Fenton's  bird-studies,  and  make  what  he 
called  Japanese  pictures  of  them.  When  Fenton 
objected  to  the  elimination  of  one  detail  or  the 
elaboration  of  another,  or  questioned  the  correct- 
ness of  his  colouring,  Arnot  only  laughed,  and 
said  it  was  the  effect  that  mattered  and  not 
accuracy. 

Had  Titian  dared  to  comment,  the  lash  of  his 
tongue  would  have  turned  harmony  to  discord. 
Because  she  was  untravelled  and  comparatively 
unlettered  he  gave  her  credit  for  neither  intelli- 
gence nor  knowledge,  and  he  was  all  too  prone  to 
snub  her  tentative  efforts  at  conversation. 

Once  or  twice,  after  Fenton  had  gone  and  Arnot 
had  dismissed  her,  when  she  sat  in  her  own  room 
brooding  in  the  firelight,  she  wondered  wistfully 
what  a  real  home  would  have  been  like — the  home 
of  her  girlish  dreams?  A  home  where — someone — 
would  have  loved  and  wanted  her,  would  have 
been  kind  to  her,  would  have  taken  little  services 
from  her.  She  tried  to  choke  down  the  thought 
as  being  disloyal  to  Arnot,  but  the  repression  of  her 
warm  and  tender  impulses  was  a  daily  trial.  Of 


42  The  Torch  of  Life 

late,  she  had  hoped  that  she  was  hardening,  that 
she  was  growing  not  to  mind  so  much. 

Were  most  marriages  like  this?  She  wondered 
again  and  again. 

Fenton's  had  come  to  shipwreck  through  no  fault 
of  his ;  her  own  was — yes,  she  was  forced  to  admit 
it — a  ghastly  failure,  a  broken  thing  whose  frag- 
ments wounded  her  sorely  in  the  breaking.  Did 
a  calamity  such  as  had  befallen  them  of  necessity 
kill  love?  She  thought  of  her  mother's  quiet 
acceptance  of  her  sorrow,  and  of  her  gradual  fad- 
ing out  of  life.  Were  men  so  utterly  different 
from  women?  She  knew  so  few  for  purposes  of 
comparison. 

Mr.  Gerard,  the  Rector  of  Breston,  an  elderly 
bachelor,  who  had  taught  her  what  she  knew  of 
literature  and  the  classics.  A  gentle  quiet  dreamer, 
ruled  by  his  house-keeping  sister  and  never  happy 
unless  book  in  hand.  She  could  not  picture  him 
otherwise.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Martyn  of  Camus, 
a  widower,  of  whom  she  knew  little  save  that  he 
read  beautifully  and  that  his  sense  of  self-import- 
ance was  so  hurt  by  Arnot's  attitude  that  he  only 
spoke  to  her  in  platitudes. 

Dr.  Bailey,  a  ruddy  cheerful  little  man  who 
came  occasionally  to  see  Arnot. 

Arnot  said  he  had  "  glimmerings, "  whatever  that 


The  Phase  Pitiless  43 

might  mean,  but  he  did  not  glimmer  much  to  her. 
He  generally  told  her  that  his  patient  was  getting 
on  nicely,  very  nicely  indeed.  He  ejaculated, 
"Well,  well,  well!"  or  "My,  my,  my!"  in  answer 
to  her  laboured  remarks,  and  usually  rounded  up 
his  visit  with  a  compliment  either  to  her  or  to  her 
flowers.  She  did  not  know  what  he  was  like  at 
home:  whether  he  cared  for  his  wife  or  not; 
whether  he  made  her  happy  or  allowed  her  to  do 
things  for  him.  She  only  knew  that  she  rather 
liked  him,  although  she  never  quite  knew  what  to 
say  to  him ;  and  his  cheery  visits  made  a  pleasant 
break  in  the  monotony  of  her  life. 

Fenton  Mede.  Dear  old  Fenty!  He  could 
never  be  anything  but  kind.  He  was  like  a  very 
nice  uncle,  she  concluded.  Of  course  she  had 
never  seen  him  in  illness,  but  somehow  she  could 
not  imagine  that  any  trouble,  no  matter  how 
devastating,  would  warp  his  nature  as  Arnot's 
seemed  to  have  been  warped  since  the  accident. 

Seemed  to  have  been  warped! 

This  reflection  brought  her  up  against  an  illumin- 
ating fact. 

How  much  of  the  apparent  perversion  of  his 
character  was  inherent,  how  much  acquired?  Like 
a  flood,  the  realisation  of  her  utter  ignorance  of 
Arnot's  true  nature  overwhelmed  her.  What  did 


44  The  Torch  of  Life 

she  know  of  the  real  character  of  the  man  whom  she 
had  married  with  such  appalling  thoughtlessness? 
What  did  she  know  of  his  life,  his  tastes,  his  habits, 
his  pastimes,  his  vices,  his  virtues?  Nothing, 
absolutely  nothing.  He  was  still  as  a  sealed  book 
to  her.  He  had  been  an  ardent  wooer,  a  bewilder- 
ing lover,  but  what  had  lain  behind  the  golden 
love-mist?  On  what  foundation  had  she  built  her 
flimsy  dream-castle?  She  felt  the  quick-sands 
shifting. 

More  than  once  she  had  realised  with  a  shock 
of  bitterness  that  it  was  only  for  her  beauty  he 
cared,  but  now  even  that  attribute,  which  she  still 
owned  in  lovely  abundance,  failed  to  please. 
Sometimes  he  seemed  to  hate  the  very  sight  of  her. 

Her  thoughts  went  round  and  round  in  their 
squirrel-cage  with  maddening  persistence;  there 
was  not  one  amongst  them  untinged  with  the 
sharpness  of  regret. 

One,  a  most  bitter-sweet  dream,  came  upper- 
most again  and  again.  A  tiny  dream,  a  soft  dream, 
the  yearning  dream  of  a  dear  impossibility,  it  beat 
against  her  heart  with  the  longing  insistence  of 
little  hands.  Its  little  footfalls  pattered  through 
her  thoughts  like  leaves  through  a  wood ;  its  little 
shadow  fell  wraith-like  across  her  path, — poor 
tiny  thwarted  ghost  of  what  might  have  been! 


The  Phase  Pitiless  45 

But  these  things  were  locked  in  the  innermost 
recesses  of  her  being ;  and  she  sometimes  wondered 
wistfully  if  people  noticed  her  love  for  little  young 
things,  or  were  aware  of  her  lingering  touch  upon 
some  curly  head  or  rosy  cheek  in  the  village.  In 
those  days,  the  singing  of  the  Magnificat  used  to 
give  her  a  pang,  and  she  wondered  dully  why 
no  one  had  written  a  Miserere  for  the  Mothers- 
who-might-have-been,  who  had  not  been  found 
worthy  to  pass  on  the  torch  of  life  through  the 
generations. 

Then  the  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Brooke — who  daily 
went  through  the  solemn  farce  of  coming  to  her 
for  orders — pitying  her  youth  and  loneliness,  had 
brought  her  a  Persian  kitten,  a  soft  grey  ball  of 
fur  and  playfulness.  No  words  could  adequately 
express  the  joy  which  the  little  thing's  companion- 
ship gave  her.  Youth  bubbled  afresh  in  her;  in 
some  odd  way  its  presence  strengthened  her  and 
enabled  her  to  bear  Arnot's  nervous  outbursts  with 
renewed  patience.  She  did  not  tell  him  of  her 
treasure ;  he  disliked  animals,  and  took  no  interest 
in  her  doings,  so  she  kept  little  Bibi  away  from 
his  quarters. 

One  day,  as  she  was  playing  with  the  kitten  on 
the  stairs,  she  heard  the  sharp  trill  of  Arnot's  bell. 
Fearing  that  he  might  need  someone  in  a  hurry,  she 


46  The  Torch  of  Life 

caught  up  Bibi  hastily  and  fled  along  the  corridor 
to  his  room. 

"What  is  it,  Arnot?" 

"I  want  Hammond." 

"Is  it  nothing  that  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Nothing.     What's  that?" 

As  she  stood,  flushed  and  breathless,  at  the  end 
of  his  couch,  the  kitten's  soft  fur  pressed  against 
her  cheek,  the  sight  of  her  seemed  to  madden  him 
inexplicably. 

"  This?  "  she  answered,  nestling  closer  to  the  lit- 
tle thing,  and  smiling  as  he  had  never  seen  her  smile 
before.  "This  is  Bibi,  my  precious  little  kitty." 

"Damn  you!"  he  burst  forth  violently.  "How 
dare  you  bring  your  abominable  animals  into  my 
room?  How  dare  you  come  in  here  cooing,  and 
smiling,  and  cuddling  the  little  beast?  As  if  I 
were  not  tormented  enough  without  that!  Go 
away.  I'll  have  the  brute  drowned.  Ah!  thank 
God,  here's  Hammond.  Hammond,  see  that  that 
grey  beast  is  drowned  before  night. " 

"Arnot!" 

"I'm  master  here,  I  tell  you, "  he  almost  snarled 
at  her. 

She  remembered  the  way  in  which  his  lip  had 
curled  back  from  his  teeth  and  how  it  had  fright- 
ened her. 


The  Phase  Pitiless  47 

"The  kitten  is  mine,"  she  said,  facing  him  like 
a  thing  at  bay.  "I  will  kill  anyone  who  dares  to 
touch  it." 

Then  Arnot's  anger  had  evaporated  in  laughter, 
a  thin  crackling  laugh  that  held  but  little  mirth. 
t      "My  God!  you  do  look  fine  when  you  are  in  a 
passion,"  he  cried,  with  an  admiration  which  stung. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  full  minute.  Her  gaze 
was  fiercely  concentrated  upon  his  altered  face; 
it  neither  wavered  nor  sank  before  his  as  it  was 
wont  to  do,  but  shone  with  the  flame  of  some 
intense  feeling. 

"  Arnot,  I  think  I  hate  you, "  she  said  at  last,  in 
a  low  voice. 

Then  she  fled  from  the  room. 

An  hour  later,  Fenton  found  her  with  the  kitten 
in  her  arms,  sobbing  her  heart  out  on  one  of  the 
stone  benches  on  the  terrace. 

It  was  late  September,  and  the  trails  of  creeper 
covered  the  wall  behind  her  in  a  glory  of  rose,  yel- 
low and  scarlet,  emphasising  by  their  fiery  splen- 
dour the  desolate  curve  of  the  crouched  figure  on 
the  bench.  The  mists  of  twilight  drew  towards 
them  from  the  sea. 

Fenton  sat  down  beside  her  and  took  one  hand 
gently  in  his. 

"What  is  it,  Titian?"  he  asked  kindly. 


48  The  Torch  of  Life 

Lifting  her  swollen  tear-blotched  face  she  told 
him. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  he  asked 
unexpectedly : 

"  How  old  were  you  when  you  married  Arnot?  " 

"Nineteen,"  she  answered. 

"You  are  a  child  no  longer,  then.  You  must  be 
patient." 

"Patient!    Patient!     I  am  sick  of  patience." 

"It  is  hard  on  you,  my  dear,"  he  continued 
slowly.  "But  you  must  realise  how  hard  it  is  on 
Arnot  too." 

"  It  is  no  worse  for  him  than  for  me, "  she  broke 
out  childishly. 

"That's  not  a  fact,"  said  Fenton  bluntly,  "and 
in  your  heart  you  know  it.  You  have  your  beauti- 
ful youth  and  health  and  strength.  What  has  he? 
Think  of  what  he  was  before  his  accident !  Why, 
he  was  tingling  with  vitality !  I  never  knew  a  chap 
who  enjoyed  life  more  than  he  did.  To  think 
of  what  he  is  now  makes  me  want  to  swear  at 
something." 

"I  know.  I  know.  I'm  a  wretch  to  complain. 
I  am  sorry  for  him.  I'd  do  anything  to  help  him, 
if  he'd  only  let  me." 

"  Don't  you  see  that  he  can't  just  yet?  He's  too 
sore.  Think  of  his  marriage,  his  hopes.  You 


The  Phase  Pitiless  49 

can't  know  what  it  means  to  him — "  He  stopped 
abruptly. 

"But  Fenty,  sometimes — sometimes  he  seems 
to  hate  me!" 

"Oh,  no,  he  doesn't,"  Fenton  returned  drily. 
"It's  only  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment 
finding  vent.  You  don't  realise  what  it  is  to  him, 
my  dear.  You  don't  understand,  and  I'm  afraid 
I  can't  enlighten  you." 

"But " 

"My  sympathy  goes  more  to  him  than  to  you 
on  this  occasion,"  Fenton  answered,  looking  at 
her  curiously.  Then  his  regard  altered;  melted 
into  the  old  kind  look.  "Keep  on  playing  the 
game,  Titian.  Believe  me,  it's  worth  while. " 

That  had  been  one  of  Fenton's  exasperating 
times — one  of  the  very  few,  she  was  obliged  in 
honesty  to  admit ;  but  the  incident  had  sown  seeds 
of  thought,  and  she  tried  to  see  Arnot's  point  of 
view  from  a  new  outlook. 

4 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  PHASE  AMOROUS 

TTHEN  followed  a  period  which  Titian  never 
*      liked  to  recall :  a  period  of  passionate  admira- 
tion, which  seemed  to  spring,  phoenix-like,  from 
the  ashes  of  Arnot's  fiery  outburst  over  the  kitten. 

He  did  not  apologise :  that  was  not  his  way ;  but 
one  day  soon  after,  when  she  was  in  his  room,  he 
dismissed  Hammond  with  a  nod,  and  called  her  to 
him. 

As  she  stood  beside  his  couch  he  took  her  hands 
and  drew  her  closer. 

"Kneel  down  beside  me,  you  lovely  thing,"  he 
whispered. 

She  knelt  obediently,  and  his  thin  arms  pressed 
her  passionately  to  him.  His  kisses  burned  on  her 
lips  and  throat  and  hair.  His  fierceness  frightened 
her,  and  she  shrank  in  his  embrace.  He  felt  her 
shrinking  and  strained  her  closer. 

"Kiss  me,"  he  whispered  again.  "Kiss  me  as 
you  ought  to  kiss  me." 

50 


The  Phase  Amorous  51 

She  touched  his  cheek  gently  with  her  lips.  The 
suddenness  of  this  fury  of  affection  overwhelmed 
her.  The  unexpectedness  of  the  demand  after 
months  of  repulsion  left  her  mentally  a-gasp,  and 
she  felt  that  she  could  not  respond  at  once  to  his 
desire.  She  stroked  his  hair  timidly — the  first 
caress  she  had  dared  to  offer  him  since  they  came 
to  Camus.  He  moved  impatiently. 

"Oh,  you  are  cold.  Cold.  Half  a  man  has  no 
appeal  for  you.  You  have  only  pity  for  the 
wreck." 

"No,  Arnot.  No,  dear,"  she  cried.  "I  love 
you.  Indeed,  I  do." 

He  pushed  her  from  him  suddenly. 

"Love!  What  do  you  know  about  love?"  he 
cried.  "You  undeveloped  fledgling  thing!  But 
if  I  can't  teach  you,  by  God,  no  one  else  shall." 

"But  Arnot,  do  teach  me,"  she  pleaded.  "I 
am  not  really  stupid.  That  is  a  lesson  I  could 
learn  very  easily.  Only  try." 

But  his  fire  spent  itself  with  disquieting  rapidity. 
He  lay  back  on  his  cushions  white  and  exhausted. 

"What's  the  use?  "  he  murmured.  "What's  the 
use  of  anything?  Life  is  a  devil's  jest,  a  tragedy 
of  errors.  What  does  some  old  German  chap  call 
it,  a  short  blossoming  and  a  long  withering.  My 
God,  my  withering  seems  very  long!" 


52  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Arnot,  my  dear!" 

"Oh,  go  away.     I  can't  stand  platitudes." 

Then,  as  she  went  to  the  door,  reluctant,  dis- 
comfited, he  called  her  back. 

"Come  here.  Slip  your  sleeves  up  from  your 
arms. " 

Hesitant  for  an  instant,  she  obeyed  him,  blush- 
ing, and  pushed  the  silken  sleeves  up  as  far  as  they 
would  go,  revealing  soft  dimpled  curves  and  round 
white  contours. 

Arnot  ran  his  thin  hot  fingers  eagerly  over  their 
cool  smoothness.  He  pressed  his  face  against  them ; 
he  drew  one  arm  round  his  neck  and  kissed  it. 
There  was  an  avid  hunger  in  his  actions  which 
accentuated  the  faint  sense  of  repugnance  that 
Titian  had  experienced  before,  but  she  tried  to 
stifle  it.  He  was  her  husband:  why  should  she 
deny  him  this  passing  pleasure?  There  was  so 
very  little  that  she  could  do  for  him.  She  suf- 
fered him  to  caress  and  play  with  her  bare  arms, 
but  still  some  inner  instinct  rebelled.  When  he 
closed  his  eyes,  tired,  she  laid  cool  hands  upon  his 
forehead  and  softly  stroked  his  hair.  There  was 
sheer  joy  in  that,  pure  pleasure  unexpectedly 
captured. 

Suddenly  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"  I  read  somewhere  of  an  old  marquis  who  had  a 


The  Phase  Amorous  53 

lovely  young  wife — something  like  you,  child, 
I  expect.  He  had  a  room  hung  with  black  satin, 
and  a  black-satin-covered  couch,  and  he  used  to 
make  his  wife  sit  naked  on  it,  while  he  feasted  on 
her  beauty." 

Titian  reddened.     "Horrible  old  man!" 

"I  should  like  to  do  that  with  you,"  said 
Arnot  very  low. 

She  sprang  away  from  him,  aflame  from  head  to 
foot.  Shame  scorched  her;  all  her  modesty  felt 
outraged  at  his  words.  She  hastily  pulled  down 
her  sleeves,  feeling  degraded. 

Arnot  laughed.  "Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  force  you 
to  do  it  against  your  will. " 

"Arnot!"  she  cried,  in  a  choked  voice. 

"If  you  really  cared  for  me  you  would  do  any- 
thing to  please  me." 

"Arnot!" 

"You  really  are  rather  like  a  doll  that  can  only 
say  'Mamma'  and  'Papa.'  You  needn't  get 
into  such  a  panic.  I'm  not  going  to  undress  my 
doll  to-day." 

The  hot  mocking  eyes,  the  jeering  tones  killed 
her  new-born  tenderness  and  roused  a  passion  fierce 
as  his. 

"Arnot,  don't  make  me  hate  you,"  she  cried 
hoarsely. 


54  The  Torch  of  Life 

"The  charming  variations  of  the  eternal  fem- 
inine!" His  voice  flicked  her  as  if  indeed  she 
stood  naked  before  him. 

A  wave  of  burning  resentment  rushed  over  her, 
and  flamed  in  her  eyes.  He  read  it  in  her  gaze  and 
answered  it  with  a  crackle  of  laughter. 

Quivering  with  shame  she  rushed  from  the  room, 
and  did  not  enter  it  again  until  he  sent  for  her 
some  days  later. 

Reluctantly  she  went  at  Hammond's  sum- 
mons. 

By  Arnot's  couch  lay  a  handsome  red  setter, 
who  beat  the  floor  with  feathery  chestnut  tail  at 
her  approach. 

"I  am  one  who  loves  that  beauty  should  go 
beautifully,"  Arnot  quoted,  as  carelessly  as  if 
continuing  some  former  conversation. 

She  shrank  from  meeting  his  eyes;  she  still  felt 
oddly  shamed. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  without  looking  at  him. 
"You  sent  for  me?" 

"  I  want  you  to  take  charge  of  this  fellow  for  me. 
He  matches  your  hair  to  perfection." 

"You  mean?" 

For  answer  he  made  the  dog  rise  to  his  feet,  and 
pointed  to  his  silver-mounted  collar. 

Titian  bent  to  look  at  it. 


The  Phase  Amorous  55 

"I,  Rufus,  belong  to  Mrs.  Fleury  of  Camus," 
was  engraved  upon  it.  She  flushed  faintly. 
Was  it  a  peace-offering?  A  sudden  memory  of 
Fenton's  words  urged  her  to  more  gracious 
response. 

"He  is  for  me?"  she  asked.  "Thank  you  very 
much.  He  is  a  beauty. " 

"Like  to  like,"  said  Arnot,  with  an  odd  little 
glance  at  her.  "Take  care  of  him  when  you  are 
out  on  the  cliffs,  for  if  my  devil  has  entered  into 
him  he  may  rush  down  a  steep  place  violently  into 
the  sea!" 

"Has  he?"  she  half -whispered. 

"  Perhaps.  For  the  moment,  at  any  rate.  You 
are  safe  for  to-day,  pretty  prude.  Shed  the  light 
of  your  countenance  on  me  for  awhile.  Sit  there, 
where  I  can  see  you." 

"Do  you  really  want  me,  Arnot?" 

"I  shouldn't  ask  you  if  I  did  not.  You  are  a 
delight  to  the  eye.  Let's  play  the  little  comedy 
of  Tantalus." 

But  when  she  brought  a  chair  to  the  end  of  the 
couch,  and  sat  with  one  hand  on  Rufus's  silky 
head,  he  closed  his  eyes  on  their  avowed  delight, 
and  lay  for  a  long  while  motionless,  with  thin 
lines  of  pain  drawn  about  his  clear-cut  lips. 

From  that  time  he  had  given  vent  to  an  extrava- 


56  The  Torch  of  Life 

gant  delight  in  her  beauty,  though  he  never 
repeated  the  suggestion  which  had  so  shocked 
her  modesty.  It  was  then  that  he  first  evinced 
dissatisfaction  with  her  maid;  from  that  epoch 
dated  Marshall's  reign.  He  sent  to  Paris  for 
designs  for  gowns  for  her;  he  had  her  attired  in  all 
that  was  rare  and  exquisite  for  his  delectation. 
He  amused  himself  by  designing  unusual  jewels  for 
her  to  wear,  and  spent  hours  in  comparing  the 
rival  charms  of  plaque  or  necklace  against  her 
snowy  skin. 

He  had  her  hair  done  in  different  ways  to  see 
which  pleased  him  best.  One  would  think  that 
the  fate  of  empires  depended  on  the  choice  of  fillet 
or  aigrette,  so  long  did  he  take  over  the  selection. 
He  was  like  some  miser  gloating  over  his  treasure  in 
secret. 

Though  Titian  liked  the  gowns  and  jewels  well 
enough,  all  her  womanhood  revolted  against  the 
incessant  bedecking  and  parading.  She  sometimes 
thought  bitterly  that  she  was  indeed  the  doll  to 
which  he  had  compared  her,  a  toy  to  be  adorned 
and  made  look  beautiful ;  not  the  wife  and  comrade 
that  she  might  have  been  to  the  warped  rebellious 
creature.  He  never  cared  to  probe  below  the  sur- 
face save  when  he  wished  to  wound;  she  felt  that 
she  was  no  more  to  him  than  is  a  beautiful  odalisque 


The  Phase  Amorous  57 

to  the  lord  of  the  harem,  and  her  pride  revolted 
from  the  thought. 

Still  she  tried  to  play  the  game,  hard  though  it 
was:  to  remember  his  affliction,  his  limitations. 
She  endured  his  fierce  but  fluctuating  outbursts  of 
passion  to  which  nothing  in  her  nature  responded, 
as  she  endured  his  exploitation  of  her  charms,  with 
a  sense  of  shamed  passivity.  When  the  fleeting 
years  awoke  in  him  the  fear  of  her  youth's  passing, 
and  with  it  her  beauty,  she  sat  and  listened  with 
numb  acquiescence  to  endless  discussions  between 
him  and  Marshall  as  to  the  claims  to  superiority 
of  this  face-cream  or  that,  this  system  of  massage 
or  the  other,  the  advisability  of  trying  electric 
vibrations,  the  best  tincture  for  keeping  the  glory 
of  her  hair  undiminished. 

What  did  it  matter?  In  a  very  few  years  all 
her  looks  would  vanish  irrevocably,  while  the 
soul,  the  personality,  the  essential  Titian,  the 
only  thing  that  really  mattered  was  being  slowly 
stifled,  slowly  atrophied. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  circles  which  the  Stone 
of  Calamity  had  started  when  cast  into  the  pool  of 
her  life,  had  grown  wider  and  wider  until  they  now 
reached  its  edge  and  ceased  to  disturb  the  placid 
surface.  The  pool  had  become  tranquil,  even 
stagnant,  when  one  day  Arnot  was  overwhelmed 


58  The  Torch  of  Life 

by  the  horrible  possibility  of  her  becoming  fat! 
He  thought  that  he  detected  a  richer  generosity 
of  outline,  a  fuller  amplitude  of  curve,  and  the 
thought  worried  him  almost  to  frenzy. 

As  usual,  it  was  Hammond  who  supplied  the 
solution  of  the  difficulty.  He  suggested  fencing 
lessons  for  his  mistress,  in  the  longest  speech  which 
Titian  had  ever  heard  him  make. 

"Mr.  Mede  can  teach  Mrs.  Fleury  when  he  is 
at  Belfield,  sir,  and  she  can  practise  with  me,  if 
you  wish,  when  he  is  away. " 

"Why,  Hammond,  can  you  fence?" 

"After  a  fashion,  sir." 

"  Invaluable  creature ! ' ' 

So  the  fencing  lessons  had  begun,  with  the  result 
that  the  new  interest  and  the  additional  exercises 
aroused  Titian  from  her  clogging  apathy. 

Fenton  was  a  skilled  fencer,  and  Titian  made  an 
apt  pupil. 

The  piquancy  of  the  contrast  between  the 
graceful  figure  in  its  black  satin  fencing-suit 
and  the  flushed  lovely  face  above  it  gave  a  new 
savour  to  Arnot's  pride  of  the  eye;  and  he  often 
urged  them  to  fresh  displays  long  after  they  had 
had  enough. 

Hammond,  too,  had  a  neat  way  with  the  foils, 
but  the  practice  with  him  only  held  the  zest  of 


The  Phase  Amorous  59 

trying  to  excel  him,  which,  to  her  chagrin,  Titian 
could  never  succeed  in  doing. 

Thus  the  days  had  woven  their  endless  chain 
until  the  hand  of  Death  suddenly  clove  the  links 
asunder. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  PHASE  FORLORN 

A  TAP  at  the  door  was  followed  by  the  entrance 
**  of  Marshall  full  of  discreetly  subdued  excite- 
ment. 

"The  doctor  and  Mr.  Mede  are  here,  madam," 
she  announced. 

"Are  they?"  asked  Titian  dully,  sitting  up  in 
bed,  and  looking  at  the  woman  as  if  she  did  not 
really  see  her. 

"And  the  doctor  wants  to  know  if  you  would  care 
to  see  him. " 

"No,  oh,  no.  Why  should  I  see  him?  I  am 
quite  well. " 

"He  thought  perhaps  you  might  like  to  know 
about  Mr.  Fleury.  Hammond  says  it  is  only 
what  was  to  be  expected.  A  clot " 

"Please  don't,  Marshall." 

"Then  I  am  to  tell  Dr.  Bailey  that  you  don't 
want  to  see  him,  madam?" 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  see  him.  I  needn't,  need 
60 


The  Phase  Forlorn  61 

I?"  She  felt  lost,  bewildered;  as  if  she  were  in 
some  new  plane  of  being  that  was  neither  past  nor 
present. 

"Mr.  Mede  will  attend  to  everything  that  is 
necessary,  he  says,"  Marshall  returned.  "He 
desired  me  to  ask  you  if  you  would  like  to  see  him 
presently.  He  will  wait  your  convenience,  he 
says. " 

"Yes.  I  think  I  should  like  to  see  him.  Oh, 
yes.  Please  ask  him  to  wait.  I'll  get  up  now. 
Get  my  bath  ready,  Marshall. " 

Marshall  vanished  into  the  bathroom  with  the 
air  of  one  who  considered  it  slightly  indecorous 
for  a  newly-made  widow  to  think  of  having  a  bath. 
Some  dim  Eastern  analogy  of  smitten  breast  and 
ash-strewn  head  floated  through  her  mind  as  being 
an  attitude  more  appropriate  to  the  occasion. 

Titian  gave  a  little  shudder  when  she  saw  that 
Marshall  had  laid  out  a  black  frock  for  her  to  wear. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  woman  had  been  pre- 
pared for  all  the  horrible  staging  of  death. 

Arnot  was  dead,  and  she  was  a  widow.  Arnot 
had  lived  and  she  had  been  his  wife.  But  in  her 
inmost  heart  she  knew  that  she  was  no  more  a 
widow  than  she  had  been  a  wife. 

Suddenly,  Marshall  and  her  conventionalities 
seemed  to  smother  her  like  the  black  gown  which 


62  The  Torch  of  Life 

the  maid  was  slowly  slipping  over  her  shoulders. 
She  felt  that  she  wanted  to  scream  as  she  emerged 
from  its  folds. 

Arnot  had  ordered  the  dress  as  an  experiment. 
He  had  wanted  to  see  how  a  black  gown  would  look 
with  her  platinum  chain  and  plaque  •set  with 
emeralds.  He  had  not  liked  it ;  she  had  only  worn 
it  once.  What  would  he  say — ?  But  how  could 
she  think  of  such  trivialities?  Arnot  had  done 
with  such  things.  He  cared  no  longer.  He  knew 
better  now,  she  thought,  and  then  wondered  if 
she  were  irreverent.  She  could  not  think  of  him 
as  being  in  an  orthodox  Heaven;. she  would  not 
imagine  him  in  an  orthodox  Hell.  In  one  irresist- 
ible flash  of  thought,  of  which  afterwards  she  felt 
hotly  ashamed,  she  pictured  him  as  being  happiest 
in  the  Mahometan  Garden  of  Paradise  surrounded 
by  lovely  houris. 

Her  thoughts  wandered  irrelevantly. 

As  Marshall  fastened  her  gown,  the  window-blind 
nearest  to  her  flapped  inward  and  hung  suspended 
over  the  back  of  a  chair.  Through  the  revealing 
space  she  saw  the  sea,  which  looked  unbelievably 
blue  after  the  artificial  gloom  of  the  room.  White- 
crisped  waves  broke  with  a  curling  hiss  over  a  rock 
on  which  a  seagull  was  perched,  and  swayed  its 
fringing  seaweed.  When  one  wave  bigger  than 


The  Phase  Forlorn  63 

the  rest  rushed  towards  the  bird,  she  thought 
absurdly,  for  a  moment,  of  how  wet  the  seagull's 
feet  would  get.  Then  she  laughed  aloud  at  the 
thought. 

The  sight  of  Marshall's  face  in  the  glass  sobered 
her  instantly. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  get  you  some  sal  volatile, 
madam?"  she  inquired  primly. 

Titian  shook  her  head,  while  Marshall  mur- 
mured something  about  "nerves"  and  "the 
shock." 

"  I  am  all  right, "  she  said  a  little  impatiently. 

"Now,"  added  Marshall,  saving  the  situation  in 
her  own  eyes. 

When  she  entered  her  sitting-room,  which  bore 
the  forlorn  aspect  induced  by  drawn  blinds  in 
daylight,  Fenton  rose  from  the  couch  and  came 
towards  her  with  outstretched  hands. 

He  said  nothing,  but  his  face  looked  rather  pale 
in  the  unnatural  light.  She  put  her  hands  into  his, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  him.  Then 
trembling  seized  her,  and  her  lips  quivered. 

"Oh,  Fenty!"  she  said.  And  again— "Oh, 
Fenty!" 

She  broke  into  uncontrollable  sobbing  as  Fenton 
put  his  arm  gently  round  her,  and  led  her  to  the 
couch. 


64  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Poor  child,"  he  said  softly.  "Dear  child. 
I  am  so  sorry. " 

As  if  she  were  indeed  the  child  he  called  her  in  his 
pity,  she  turned  and  buried  her  face  in  the  rough 
tweed  of  his  coat,  crying  and  clinging  to  him  as  if 
she  would  never  let  him  go.  The  touch  of  warm 
humanity  was  sufficient  to  unlock  the  sluice-gates 
of  her  emotion.  His  kindness  and  the  sense  of 
contact  emphasised  and  yet  mitigated  her  loneli- 
ness as  Marshall's  aloofness  had  failed  to  do;  and 
the  flood  of  tears  washed  away  the  bitterness  of 
her  retrospect  and  loosed  the  grip  of  the  nervous 
shock.  Fenton  did  nothing  to  check  it  for  a  time. 

"Have  you  got  a  handkerchief?"  he  asked  at 
last,  in  some  embarrassment. 

"N — no,"  she  sobbed.  "I  haven't  even  got  a 
pocket."  Then  she  lifted  her  head  and  gave  a 
queer,  choked  laugh.  "Oh,  Fenty,  how  ludicrous 
it  seems  that  you  should  ask  me  if  I  have  a  hand- 
kerchief !  I  wonder  that  Marshall  forgot  to  provide 
me  with  such  an  appropriate  accessory. " 

"Here's  mine,"  said  Fenton,  unfolding  a  white 
silk  one  and  putting  it  into  her  hand. 

He  looked  at  her  pityingly.  He  did  not  quite 
know  what  to  say  to  her.  Conventional  sympathy 
if  he  could  ever  offer  it,  was  out  of  place  here. 
And  yet,  what  a  deep  spring  of  sympathy  welled 


The  Phase  Forlorn  65 

within  him  for  the  lonely  creature  beside  him! 
The  black  dress  changed  her,  he  thought.  It 
seemed  to  accentuate  her  pathetic  appeal. 

"Dear  Fenty,  you  are  so  nice  and  human,"  she 
said,  drying  her  eyes  and  trying  to  suppress  her 
sobs.  "I  am  so  glad  you  have  come.  I  was 
frightfully  lonely.  Marshall  is  so  aloof  and  dis- 
approving. She  is  acting  according  to  some  code 
of  regulations  of  her  own,  and  she  expects  me  to  do 
likewise.  But  I  don't  quite  know  what  is  expected 
of  me,  and  I'm  not  sure  that  I  should  do  it  if  I 
did.  I  can't  mourn  conventionally.  I  needn't, 
need  I,  Fenty?" 

To  this  outburst  Fenton  answered  never  a  word. 
He  only  patted  the  hand  which  lay  in  her  lap  near 
him,  noting  two  things  as  he  did  so,  its  whiteness 
against  the  black  gown  and  the  gleam  of  the  wed- 
ding-ring on  its  third  finger. 

"I  am  sorry.  You  believe  I'm  sorry?"  she 
continued  feverishly,  as  if  speech  must  flow  regard- 
less of  response.  "It's  simply  that  it  all  seems 
unbelievable,  impossible.  Yesterday  and  the  day 
before  and  weeks  ago  the  same  things  happened, 
the  same  routine  went  on.  Last  night  he  was  just 
as  usual,  and  to-day!  Oh,  I  can't  believe  it, 
Fenty." 

"It's  true  enough,  child,"  said  Fenton. 


66  The  Torch  of  Life 

"But  there  was  no  warning?  Could  we  have 
done  nothing  to  guard  against  it?" 

"Would  you  have  wished  to  guard  against  it? 
Would  he  have  wished  to  guard  against  it?" 

"I — don't  think  so,"  said  Titian,  nervously 
rolling  the  handkerchief  into  a  wet  ball.  "But 
do  you  think  he  wanted  anything?  Was  there 
nothing  we  could  have  done  for  him?  That 
thought  has  been  haunting  me. " 

"Lay  its  ghost  once  and  for  all,"  Fenton  re- 
turned. "Arnot  died  in  his  sleep,  painlessly, 
peacefully.  As  he  would  have  wished.  As  any- 
one who  cared  for  him  would  have  wished  if  they 
could  have  chosen." 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  her  eyes  sought  the 
direction  of  his,  which  were  still  held  by  the  gleam 
of  that  emblematical  gold  band. 

Flushing,  she  looked  up  suddenly. 

"I  did  play  the  game,  didn't  I,  Fenty?" 

He  pressed  the  hand  that  bore  the  wedding- 
ring. 

"You  played  it  like  a  man,  Titian, "  he  answered. 

Through  her  pleasure  at  his  response  pricked  a 
half -amused  wonder  at  the  form  of  it. 

"I  suppose  it  would  never  do  to  say  I  played  it 
like  a  woman,"  she  said.  Then  giving  his  arm  a 
quick  little  squeeze,  she  cried,  "Oh,  Fenty,  you  are 


The  "Phase  Forlorn  67 

so  nice  and  human!  You  are  such  a  big  warm 
thing  in  a  huge  cold  world.  Don't  leave  me  all 
alone  here  with  Marshall. " 

Her  tears  flowed  afresh,  but  she  tried  to  check 
them. 

Again  his  heart  swelled  with  pity  for  her. 

"Have  you  no  relations  of  your  own,  Titian? 
No  one  you  would  like  to  send  for?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  My  mother  was  an  only 
child.  My  father's  relations  never  forgave  him 
for  marrying  her.  He  jilted  an  heiress  for  her  sake, 
and  they  ran  away  together.  No,  I  don't  think 
I  have  a  single  relation  in  the  world." 

1 '  Have  you  no  woman  friend ,  then  ?  You  should 
have  someone  with  you." 

"I  haven't  been  able  to  make  friends  here,  as 
you  know,  Fenty.  Arnot  didn't  encourage  people, 
and  they  soon  dropped  us.  I  have  lived  a  sort  of 
hermit's  life  for  the  last  ten  years. " 

"I  know.  I  know.  Poor  child!"  For  a  mo- 
ment his  loyalty  to  the  dead  gave  way,  and  he 
thought  bitterly  of  Arnot's  selfishness. 

"  Had  you  no  friends  at  Breston?" 

"There  were  only  the  Gerards.  Perhaps  Miss 
Gerard  would  come  to  me  if  you  thought  I  ought 
to  have  someone,  but  I  don't  think  she'd  be  happy 
here.  She  is  always  bustling  about  the  Rectory 


68  The  Torch  of  Life 

at  home—  The  old  word  slipped  out  uncon- 
sciously. "  She  would  have  nothing  to  do  here. " 

"  She  would  be  a  woman  in  the  house  with  you,  at 
any  rate,  and  not  a  fish,  like  Marshall.  Besides,  she 
could  help  you  to  see  about  things.  Women " 

"Please  don't  be  conventional,  Fenty.  I  couldn't 
bear  it.  Things,  indeed !  No  doubt  Marshall  will 
see  that  I  am  suitably  attired  for  any  and  every 
occasion.  Oh!"  she  cried,  rising  with  sudden  pas- 
sion. "How  I  hate  and  detest  the  very  name  of 
clothes!" 

Fenton  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise.  To 
the  outward  eye  life  had  flowed  through  Camus 
of  late  years  with  a  deceptively  calm  placidity. 
He  had  no  idea  of  the  rebellions  and  humiliations 
which  had  seethed  below  the  apparently  tranquil 
surface. 

"I  thought  that  all  women "  he  began, 

puzzled. 

"You've  no  right  to  think  anything  about  all 
women,  or  any  women,"  she  broke  forth.  "Wo- 
men are  as  different  as — as  dogs.  You've  no  right 
to  generalise." 

"I  never  meant  to ' 

"No,  I'm  sure  you  didn't.  You  must  forgive 
me,  Fenty.  I'm  unstrung  to-day.  Everything 
seems  so  strange.  I  don't  think  that  you  are  the 


The  Phase  Forlorn  69 

sort  of  man  who  looks  upon  a  woman  merely  as  a 
beautiful  doll  to  play  with  and  bedeck."  Then 
she  stopped  and  looked  at  him  with  quick  scrutiny. 
"Or  are  you?" 

"No,  I'm  not,"  he  answered  bluntly. 

Titian  looked  away  and  pushed  back  her  hair 
from  her  forehead. 

It  was  an  unconscious  trick  which  Fenton  had 
often  noticed.  He  liked  the  curve  of  her  white 
fingers  as  they  thrust  back  the  wave  of  hair,  and 
he  liked  the  way  the  tress  fell  back  into  place, 
spraying  a  little  over  her  forehead.  He  had  some- 
times wondered  why  Arnot  had  not  made  her  self- 
conscious  by  commenting  upon  it.  Perhaps  it 
counted  to  him  for  righteousness  that  he  had  not 
done  so. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  telegraph  for  Miss 
Gerard?"  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"If  you  think  it  would  be  best,"  she  answered 
passively. 

"Did  Arnot  ever  tell  you  anything  about  his 
affairs?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Did  he  tell  you  that  he  had  asked  me  to  act  as 
your  trustee?" 

"No." 

"Do  vou  know  what  a  trustee  is?" 


70  The  Torch  of  Life 

She  shook  her  head  again.  Then,  with  a  smile 
which  irradiated  her  tear-stained  face,  she  said: 
"If  it  means  a  person  whom  one  can  trust  it  is  a 
very  appropriate  thing  for  you  to  be,  Fenty. " 

Fenton  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window  before 
he  answered.  Then  he  came  back. 

"That's  as  good  a  definition  as  you  can  get  in 
this  instance,"  he  said,  rather  huskily.  "Do  you 
think  that  you  can  trust  me,  Titian?" 

"Of  course  I  can,"  she  cried  warmly.  "Why, 
Fenty,  I  always  look  on  you  as  a  sort  of  uncle!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  CONQUERING  OF  ALL  PHASES 

be  regarded  as  the  uncle  of  a  young  and 
beautiful  woman  may  have  its  advantages, 
but,  to  a  man  who  can  boast  only  nine  years' 
seniority,  the  implication  of  such  advanced  age  is 
scarcely  complimentary.  Fenton  was  taken  aback. 

"Had  we  not  better  say  cousin?"  he  suggested. 
"That  is  the  real  relationship." 

"Just  as  you  like,"  she  assented.  "You  are  so 
steady,  and  so  entirely  dependable.  You  are  like 
a  big  rock,  no,  a  great  tree,  for  I  think  you  could 
shelter  one  from  heat  as  well  as  from  rain." 

He  felt  touched  at  her  outspoken  confidence  in 
him. 

"lam  glad  that  you  feel  like  that.  I  hope  you 
will  always  do  so,"  he  returned  gravely.  "At 
all  times  I  shall  be  ready  to  serve  you.  You  must 
never  hesitate  to  call  on  me.  If  you  give  me 
Miss  Gerard's  address  I'll  write  out  the  wire  for 
her." 


72  The  Torch  of  Life 

"The  Rectory,  Breston.  You'll  find  forms  in 
my  desk. " 

He  went  over  to  the  desk  and  hastily  wrote  a 
couple  of  telegrams;  then  turned  to  Titian. 

"I've  sent  one  also  to  my  sister  Mollie — Lady 
Tempest.  I  wish  she  was  at  home.  She  would 
come  to  you,  I  am  sure. " 

A  wave  of  loyalty  surged  up  in  Titian.  "She 
never  came  while  Arnot  was  alive.  Why  should 
she  come  now?" 

Fenton  looked  rather  embarrassed. 

"She  and  Arnot  had  a — a  misunderstanding,  I 
believe.  They  were  once  very  good  friends.  In 
the  old  days  they  were  regular  chums.  Mollie  was 
a  year  younger  than  Arnot.  They  did  everything 
together.  They  used  to  bully  me  dreadfully. " 

"Why  did  you  let  them?" 

"It  was  a  case  of  two  against  one,  and  I  was 
three  years  younger  than  Mollie." 

"Three  years  younger!"  cried  Titian,  making  a 
rapid  calculation  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  against 
the  chintz  of  the  couch.  "Why  that  makes  you 
four  years  younger  than  Arnot,  and  only  nine 
years  older  than  I  am!" 

"Even  so,  most  sapient  mathematician." 

"  I  never  was  so  surprised  in  my  life.  I  thought 
that  you  were  years  older  than  Arnot.  It  must  be 


The  Conquering  of  All  Phases     73 

your  beard.  Why  did  you  grow  a  beard  when  you 
were  so  young,  Fenty?" 

"Laziness,"  he  answered  laconically. 

"Do  you  know  why  Arnot  and  your  sister 
quarrelled?" 

"Yes."  The  curt  affirmative  gave  no  promise 
of  further  enlightenment,  and  seemed  to  clang  a 
door  in  Titian's  face. 

"Oh,"  she  said  dubiously.  "I  suppose  I 
mustn't  ask  questions." 

"If  you  say  that  you  suppose  that  I  mustn't 
answer  them  it  would  be  nearer  the  mark,"  said 
Fenton,  rising. 

Titian  clutched  at  the  corner  of  the  couch  in  a 
sudden  tremor. 

"Fenty,  you're  not  going.  Don't  go.  Don't 
leave  me. " 

"I'm  only  going  to  ring  for  someone  to  take 
these  wires."  He  looked  compassionately  at  her 
as  he  went  towards  the  bell.  "I'll  stay  as  long  as 
you  want  me." 

"Just  let  me  see  you.  Let  me  know  you  are 
there,"  she  went  on,  speaking  quickly.  "Talk 
if  you  can.  Don't  if  it's  too  much  of  an  effort, 
but  just  let  me  feel  that  there's  a  human  being 
somewhere  near  me  whom  I  can  touch  if  I  want  to. 
I  daresay  you  think  me  very  callous  and  queer  to 


74  The  Torch  of  Life 

talk  about  anything  and  everything  as  I  have  been 
doing.  To  be  able  to  laugh,  even.  I  daresay  it  is. 
But  down  underneath  is  the  consciousness  of  that 
icy  fact,  and  all  my  words  and  thoughts  come 
trooping,  hurrying  by,  to  try  to  pretend  that  it's 
not  there.  Do  you  understand,  Fenty?  Do  you, 
I  wonder?  Even  the  least  little  bit?" 

She  gazed  up  at  him.  Her  eyes  looked  dark  and 
wild  in  the  pallor  of  her  face.  Fenton  sat  down  be- 
side her,  and  took  her  nervously-working  hands  in 
his. 

"  I  understand  that  you  have  had  a  great  shock, 
my  dear,"  he  said  quietly.  "It  will  take  some 
time  for  your  nerves  to  readjust  themselves.  That 
is  why  I  think  you  ought  to  have  a  woman  with 
you.  Should  you  have  got  up?" 

"I  couldn't  stay  in  bed,"  she  cried.  "I  did 
nothing  but  think  and  think.  All  the  horrid 
things,  all  the  bitter  things,  all  the  humiliating 
things,  came  thronging  into  my  mind.  It  was 
ghastly. "  She  shuddered.  "  Why  couldn't  I  think 
nice  things,  Fenty?  Why  have  I  no  happy  or 
beautiful  memories  like  other  people?  Why  should 
I  feel  nothing  but  this  underlying  sick  terror?" 

"Poor  child.     Poor  child,"  he  said  soothingly. 

Silence  fell,  while  Fenton  strove  to  find  words 
that  might  bring  comfort.  At  last  he  said: 


The  Conquering  of  All  Phases     75 

"Titian,  I  think  there  is  one  thing  which  might 
allay  that  terror." 

She  looked  at  him  quickly,  nervously.  In  her 
inmost  heart  she  knew  what  he  was  going  to 
suggest,  but  she  shrank  inexpressibly  from  hearing 
it  put  into  words. 

"To  this  house  Death  has  come  only  as  a 
friend,"  said  Fenton  slowly.  "The  bringer  of 
rest.  First  to  your  mother,  now  to  Arnot." 
He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  continued: 
"Will  you  come  with  me  to  see  him?" 

She  shrank  back  into  the  corner  of  the  couch, 
and  pulled  her  hands  from  his. 

"No.  Oh,  no.  I  couldn't.  Don't  ask  me.  I 
don't  believe  I  could." 

"There  is  nothing  to  frighten  you;  nothing  to 
repel,"  he  said  quietly. 

"I — "  she  began,  then  stopped,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  him  in  a  desperate  appeal  of  which  she 
yet  felt  half -ashamed.  A  lump  rose  in  her  throat ; 
she  felt  as  if  it  would  choke  her. 

"I  won't  urge  you  to  come  if  you  would  rather 
not,  but  I  think  it  would  do  you  good,"  he  per- 
sisted gently. 

She  knew  that  he  was  right,  but  could  not  bring 
herself  to  consent.  As  she  looked  at  the  big  quiet 
figure  on  the  couch  near  her,  some  subtle  strength 


76  The  Torch  of  Life 

seemed  to  emanate  from  him  to  her.  It  was  as 
if  spirit  touched  spirit  with  friendly  invigorat- 
ing contact;  as  if  his  sympathy  tried  to  instil 
some  of  his  own  calm  into  her  wavering  tormented 
mind. 

Speech  at  all  times  was  difficult  to  Fenton  Mede, 
but  speech  about  the  deeper  intimacies  of  life  was 
almost  impossible.  Yet  he  felt  that  at  all  costs 
his  slow  tongue  must  be  untied,  his  reticence 
conquered,  if  he  were  to  help  this  troubled  creature 
who  leaned  upon  him,  who  trusted  him  so  abso- 
lutely in  her  forlornness. 

At  last,  with  a  visible  effort,  he  forced  speech 
halting  with  frequent  shy  pauses: 

"I  suppose  there's  always  a — a  sort  of  war  be- 
tween what — we  are,  and — and  what  we  might  be. 
St.  Paul's  old  fight,  the  flesh  and  the  spirit.  Well 
— Arnot's  spirit  has — has  dropped  the  burden  of 
the  flesh — found  it  too  heavy  to  carry  any  longer. 
It's  at  rest,  the  poor  body,  and — and,  Titian — the 
marks  of — of  the  fight  have  been  rubbed  out.  He 
looks  the — the  Arnot  that  he  might  have  been. 
He — looks  as  if  the  best  of  him  had  triumphed, 
somehow.  If  you'd  only  come  and  see  for  your- 
self I  think  it  would  comfort  you  as  nothing  else 
could." 

He  stopped.     Titian   could   see  something  of 


The  Conquering  of  All  Phases     77 

what  the  effort  had  cost  him,  and  she  felt  oddly 
touched.  To-day  the  veil  which  had  enwrapped 
her  life  of  late  years  had  been  rudely  torn  asunder. 
She  was  face  to  face  with  real  things  now. 

With  a  sigh  that  was  half  a  strangled  sob,  she 
rose  and  walked  over  to  the  window. 

Fenton  watched  her,  wondering. 

She  raised  a  corner  of  the  blind  and  looked  out 
across  the  terrace  and  the  bay.  A  gust  of  wind 
eddied  the  fallen  red  leaves  along  the  pavement, 
and  set  them  dancing  and  whirling  over  the  low 
parapet  into  the  water  beneath.  The  church 
tower  caught  her  eyes  and  held  them  for  a  moment, 
while  a  tangle  of  thoughts  rushed  through  her  mind, 
blown  as  swiftly  as  the  leaves  before  the  wind. 
Suddenly,  her  gaze  fell  on  a  white  house  near  the 
church.  In  an  upper  window  used  to  sit  a  young 
girl  who  was  dying  of  consumption.  Titian  had 
gone  to  see  her  until  Arnot  had  discovered  and 
forbidden  the  visits.  • 

To-day  that  upper  blind  was  drawn.  Then 
poor  Agatha  had  got  her  order  of  release.  Surely 
to  her  also  Death  had  come  as  a  friend. 

Fenton's  efforts  had  not  been  in  vain.  His 
halting  words  had  touched  the  right  chord.  The 
real  Titian  was  still  alive;  her  finer  sensibilities 
were  not  atrophied. 


78  The  Torch  of  Life 

She  turned  from  the  window  with  a  softened 
look  upon  her  face. 

"I  will  come  with  you,  Fenty, "  she  said.  "I 
should  like  to  think  that  Arnot  is  really  happy." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  LAST  FLICK 

WHEN  all  that  was  mortal  of  Arnot  Fleury 
had  been  laid  to  rest,  the  question  of  the 
future  loomed  portentously  before  Titian;  yet 
under  its  shadow  she  moved  as  one  who  is  half 
asleep. 

The  coming  of  Miss  Gerard,  welcome  though  it 
was,  brought  no  sense  of  inner  companionship, 
nor  had  she  seen  Fenton  again  from  the  day  when 
he  had  led  her,  smitten  to  stillness,  from  the  silent 
chamber  of  death,  until  they  came  face  to  face  in 
the  library  to  hear  the  reading  of  Arnot's  will. 

It  was  a  brief  document.  With  the  exception  of 
legacies  to  Hammond  and  Marshall — "because 
they  knew  how  to  carry  out  instructions, " — he  left 
all  that  he  possessed  "to  my  wife  Letitia,  or  Titian 
Fleury,  because  her  beauty  never  failed  me. " 

Fenton  noted  her  start  and  flush  as  "our  Mr. 
Robert  Bourne"  of  Messrs.  Bourne,  Bourne  & 
Gleed,  read  the  clause  aloud  in  dry  legal  tones; 

79 


8o  The  Torch  of  Life 

but  beyond  that  brief  involuntary  betrayal  no 
further  sign  of  emotion  escaped  her. 

When  Fenton  had  seen  Mr.  Bourne  off  in  the 
motor  he  caught  sight  of  Miss  Gerard  walking  on 
the  terrace  and  went  to  join  her. 

It  was  a  still  grey  day.  The  sea  spread  calm 
and  silvery  towards  the  misty  horizon.  Here  and 
there  a  russet-sailed  fishing-boat  lay  dark  upon  its 
surface.  From  a  rift  in  the  clouds  a  hidden  sun 
sent  shafts  of  light  raying  downwards  to  touch  the 
shimmering  water  to  bands  of  coppery  brightness. 

Miss  Gerard  turned  with  alacrity  when  she 
heard  Fenton's  steps  on  the  flags  behind  her. 

"I  am  glad  of  this  opportunity  of  a  talk  with 
you  Mr.  Mede, "  she  said  briskly.  "I  am  rather 
anxious  about  Titian.  She  seems  to  me  to  be 
half-dazed.  She  must  be  roused.  She  must  be 
awakened  to  a  sense  of  her  position  and  her 
responsibilities. " 

Miss  Emily  Gerard  was  a  neat  spare  woman  of 
about  fifty,  with  smooth  brown  hair,  quick  grey 
eyes,  a  bright  fixed  colour,  and  a  mind  which  never 
wavered  in  coming  to  a  decision.  Having  made 
up  her  brother's  mind  for  him  upon  every  subject 
save  literature  (and  one  other)  for  nearly  forty 
years,  she  conceived  herself  to  be  capable  of 
grappling  with  any  situation,  however  complex. 


The  Last  Flick  81 

"People  invariably  make  their  own  difficulties," 
she  was  fond  of  saying.  "  If  there's  a  way  in,  there 
must  be  a  way  out." 

Fenton  felt  that  such  a  quality  of  mind  might 
be  of  inestimable  benefit  to  Titian  in  her  present 
forlorn  condition. 

"How  do  you  propose  to  rouse  her?"  he  asked 
with  interest.  "Have  you  any  definite  suggestion 
to  make?" 

There  was  no  hesitance  about  Miss  Gerard's 
answer. 

"I  have  a  piece  of  news  that  will  surprise  her 
greatly — aye,  and  shock  her  too!  I  haven't  men- 
tioned it  to  her  yet,  as  I  did  not  like  to  obtrude 
my  own  affairs  upon  her." 

"Is  it  permitted  to  ask  the  nature  of  the 
news?" 

"It  is,"  replied  Miss  Gerard  bluntly.  She 
paused  for  a  moment ;  then  went  on,  with  height- 
ened colour  and  eyes  so  bright  that  they  almost 
seemed  to  snap  sparks:  "It  ought  to  be  no  news 
to  any  woman  that  a  man  is  going  to  make  a  fool 
of  himself,  and  yet,  I  must  say  that  I  was  com- 
pletely taken  aback." 

She  stopped  again,  and  Fenton  glanced  at  her 
with  a  look  compact  of  curiosity  and  amusement. 

"  'Tis  a  true  saying  that  a  fool  will  always  find  a 


82  The  Torch  of  Life 

greater  fool  to  admire  him,  but  how  anyone  could 
see  anything  to  admire  in  my  brother  Baldwin  I 
can't  imagine.  He's  a  regular  gomeril  about 
everything  except  his  books." 

Light  began  to  dawn  upon  Fenton. 

"Who  is  the  lady?"  he  inquired  politely. 

"  Lady?  She's  not  a  lady ! "  sniffed  Miss  Gerard. 
"That's  the  worst  feature  of  a  disgusting  case. 
She's  the  new  village  school-mistress,  a  designing 
minx!" 

"Is  Mr.  Gerard  going  to  marry  her?" 

"  I  believe  so, "  returned  Miss  Gerard  in  a  hard 
voice,  looking  out  to  sea.  "He  says  she  is  the 
only  woman  he  has  ever  met  who  knew  anything 
about  Greek  epigrams.  Greek  epigrams,  indeed! 
I  believe  she  just  cribbed  them  all  out  of  some  old 
book  in  order  to  blind  the  poor  gullible  creature. 
Will  Greek  epigrams  darn  his  stockings  or  see  that 
he  has  a  decent  dinner,  aye,  and  eats  it  too,  for 
he's  very  apt  to  forget  it?" 

"Is  there  a  disparity?"  Fenton  ventured. 

"Disparity?"  retorted  Miss  Gerard.  "A  mild 
word,  indeed !  He's  thirty  years  older  than  she  is. 
A  whole  generation  between  them!  What  does 
she  know  about  domestic  economy,  except  to  teach 
it  out  of  silly  little  books?  Maybe  she'll  find  it 
easier  to  marry  than  to  housekeep !  Now,  do  you 


The  Last  Flick  83 

think  that's  bombshell  enough  to  rouse  Titian?" 
she  added,  turning  sharply  to  him. 

"I  should  think  it  would  be,"  he  replied,  sup- 
pressing a  smile,  because  he  felt  that  a  very  real 
pain  underlay  Miss  Gerard's  vehemence. 

Anything  that  was  hurt  or  halt  or  maimed  made 
instant  appeal  to  him,  and  he  divined  the  sore  re- 
sentment at  being  so  easily  cast  aside  for  a  strange 
woman  that  burned  through  her  commentary  on 
mankind  in  general. 

"I  don't  wish  to  seem  intrusive,"  Fenton  con- 
tinued. "But  am  I  to  infer  from  what  you  have 
just  told  me  that  you  are  now  free  to  come  and  go 
as  you  wish?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  her  lips  tightening.  "If 
3^ou  call  it  freedom  to  be  suddenly  cast  aside  by 
the  person  you  care  most  for,  and  forced  to  stand 
with  tied  hands  while  you  see  him  drifting  to 
destruction." 

"  It  may  not  be  as  bad  as  that.  Such  marriages 
sometimes  turn  out  quite  happily.  If  people  have 
tastes  in  common " 

Miss  Gerard  turned  to  wither  him  with  a  glance. 

"Tastes  in  common!"  she  cried.  "I  wonder 
how  soon  they'll  come  to  the  end  of  the  Greek 
epigrams,  and  what  they'll  find  when  they  get 
there?" 


84  The  Torch  of  Life 

"One  never  knows,"  returned  Fenton,  looking 
at  his  watch.  "I  should  like  to  see  Titian  before 
I  go." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  stay  to  tea?"  Miss  Gerard 
asked,  clinging  to  his  presence  in  the  lonely  house 
as  Mrs.  Bagot  had  clung  so  many  years  ago. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  he  answered.  "Not  un- 
less Titian  specially  wants  me." 

"I  think  she  must  be  in  her  own  room.  Shall  I 
see?" 

"No,  thank  you.  I'll  find  her  for  myself.  It 
would  be  a  pity  to  bring  you  in. " 

As  he  walked  along  the  terrace,  his  thoughts 
turned  to  the  news  which  Miss  Gerard  had  told 
him.  Surely  the  marriage  of  the  Reverend  Baldwin 
Gerard  had  been  providentially  arranged!  In 
his  inmost  heart  he  blessed  the  happy  inspiration 
which  had  led  the  prospective  bride  to  bait 
her  nets  with  Greek  epigrams.  He  forgot  Miss 
Gerard's  pain  in  the  pleasure  that  he  felt  at  the 
thought  that  Fate  had,  at  the  psychological  mo- 
ment, provided  the  very  person  best  fitted  to  look 
after  Titian. 

He  felt  a  sense  of  responsibility  towards  her. 
Of  her  true  capabilities  he  knew  but  little.  She 
had  led  a  life  of  such  cloistered  seclusion  that  he 
was  unaware  of  what  potentialities  had  been 


The  Last  Flick  85 

nipped  in  budtime  or  what  were  still  capable  of 
coming  to  fruitage.  All  that  he  knew  of  her  was 
sweet  and  womanly.  Still,  he  felt  dimly  that  there 
must  be  unnoted  possibilities  hidden  beneath  the 
surface. 

She  was  sitting  in  her  favourite  corner  of  the 
couch;  a  pathetic,  black-robed  figure  against  the 
burnt-rose  cushions,  with  Rufus's  silky  head  on 
her  knee.  She  was  bending  over  the  dog  as  he 
entered  the  room,  stroking  and  pulling  his  smooth 
ears.  She  looked  up  quickly  at  Fenton's  approach 
There  were  dark  shadows  beneath  her  eyes. 

"Ah,  Fenty,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said. 
"I've  been  hoping  that  you  would  come,  ever  since 
I  heard  the  car  go  away." 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me?"  he  asked.  "I 
thought  you  didn't  want  to  be  bothered." 

"I  don't  believe  that  you  could  ever  bother 
me,"  she  answered,  with  a  little  smile.  Then  she 
drooped  her  head  and  bent  once  more  over  the  dog. 

As  he  looked  at  her  he  noticed  a  sudden  inde- 
finable change.  Even  to  himself  he  could  not  tell 
in  what  it  lay,  whether  in  poise,  manner,  or  expres- 
sion. Her  face  was  wistfully  lovely  in  its  unusual 
pallor;  her  shadowed  eyes  held  their  old  childish 
appeal;  the  little  hinted  dimple  still  lurked  at  the 
corner  of  her  mouth.  It  was  the  same  and  yet  not 


86  The  Torch  of  Life 

altogether  the  same  Titian  who  had  clung  to  him  so 
piteously  at  their  last  meeting.  Where  was  the 
change?  The  query  pricked  him. 

"I  have  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  Fenty,"  the 
soft  voice  went  on.  "I  have  wanted  to  ask  you 
things  about  myself — my  position. " 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  you  are  what  the 
world  would  call  a  rich  woman,"  said  Fenton 
slowly. 

"Am  I?" 

"Camus  Castle  belongs  to  you  and,  roughly 
speaking,  about  £10,000  a  year." 

"I  suppose  that's  a  good  deal." 

"A  comfortable  income,"  returned  Fenton 
drily. 

"How  much  a  year  have  you  got,  Fenty?" 

"Not  quite  a  fifth  of  that." 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  much  about  money," 
she  went  on,  stroking  the  dog's  ruddy  head.  "I 
never  had  the  spending  of  any  until  mother's 
money  came  to  me. " 

"How  much  was  that?"  asked  Fenton  in  his 
turn. 

"About  a  hundred  a  year,"  she  answered. 

"Was  that  what  you  had  to  live  on  before  you 
married?" 

"I  suppose  so.     I  never  asked.     I  never  both- 


The  Last  Flick  87 

ered  about  money.  I  was  a  child,  a  baby,  an 
absolute  idiot,"  she  broke  out  suddenly.  "I 
suppose  I'm  little  better  now." 

"Did  Arnot  give  you  no  allowance?" 

"No,  he  paid  for  everything  I  had  himself. 
He  said  that  I  did  not  need  money,  that  I  should 
not  know  how  to  use  it.  True,  perhaps,  then. 
But  now  I  have  to  use  it  and  I  don't  know  how. " 

Fenton  was  aware  of  some  straining  turbulence 
tightly  leashed  by  the  quiet  figure  on  the  couch 
beside  him. 

"You  will  soon  learn, "  he  said  gently. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  there's  not  much  art  in  spend- 
ing money,"  she  said  a  little  bitterly.  "Arnot 
spent  it  like  water  on  my  dresses  and  my  jewels. " 

"He  was  one  who  'loved  that  beauty  should  go 
beautifully,'"  Fenton  returned. 

"Oh,  don't  quote  that  to  me,  Fenton!"  she 
cried,  with  sudden  vehemence,  striking  the  end  of 
the  couch  with  her  hand.  "If  you  could  only 
guess  how  sick,  how  shamed  that  quotation  makes 
me  feel!  It  was  Arnot's  justification  for  every- 
thing. Oh,  how  he  has  humiliated  me!  Even 
in  his  will — "  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  Hot  tears  trickled  through  her  fingers. 

"  Titian !     My  dear  child. " 

"Oh,  don't  touch  me,  don't  come  near  me,"  she 


88  The  Torch  of  Life 

cried,  wildly.  "You  don't  know  what  I've  been 
for  the  last  few  years.  A  doll,  a  toy,  a  whim !  An 
atrophying  soul,  whose  only  beauty  lay  in  the  flesh 
that  clothed  it.  Every  day,  in  every  way,  he 
made  me  feel  that  it  was  only  for  my  body  that  he 
cared."  She  stopped  abruptly. 

"I  never  knew,"  Fenton  faltered. 

"How  could  you?  It's  not  likely  that  he  would 
have  exploited  such  ideas  to  you.  I  was  shamed 
enough  without  that.  Every  decent  impulse  in 
me  he  tried  to  check.  Every  bit  of  the  real  me  he 
tried  to  stifle.  Everything  that  was  natural  and 
human  he  strove  to  kill,  while  my  hateful  body 
was  massaged  and  creamed  and  exercised  in  order 
to  keep  its  beauty  a  delight  for  his  eyes.  I  bore 
it  while  he  was  alive.  Right  or  wrong,  I  thought 
it  was  my  duty.  He  was  fond  of  saying  that 
many  women  would  sell  themselves  for  such  clothes 
and  jewels  as  mine.  If  I  had  sold  myself  I  should 
not  have  felt  half  so  humiliated.  But  I  didn't, 
Fenty."  Her  voice  trailed  into  a  sob.  "I 
married  him  for  love — for  love  which  he  did  his 
best  to  kill.  He  might  have  spared  me  after 
death.  He  might!  He  might!  I  can't  forgive 
him  for  putting  that  in  his  will. "  She  broke  into 
piteous  sobbing. 

It   was   a   revelation   to   Fenton.     Hot   anger 


The  Last  Flick  89 

surged  within  him  as  he  thought  of  the  years  of 
hidden  suffering  which  she  had  endured  so  bravely ; 
suffering  less  easily  borne  by  a  proud  spirit  than 
tangible,  curable  pain. 

"To  shame  me  before  everyone,"  she  sobbed. 
"It  was  too  cruel." 

"Listen,  Titian.  Listen,"  he  said,  gently  in- 
sistent. "You  were  not  shamed.  Nobody  thought 
anything  of  that  clause  except  yourself.  It 
conveyed  nothing  to  me  except ': 

"Except  what?"  she  asked,  sitting  up  and 
looking  at  him  as  if  she  would  read  his  very 
soul. 

"Except — well,  a  rather  exotic  appreciation  of 
you,"  he  answered  reluctantly.  "You  must  rid 
your  mind  of  such  thoughts,  child.  You  must 
wipe  them  away  as  you  would  off  a  slate. " 

"They  were  not  written  with  slate  pencil,"  she 
said  very  low.  "They  were  burned  in,  Fenty. " 

"Well,  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  then,  and  start 
afresh.  I  know  how  easy  it  is  to  say  these  things, 
and  how  it  is  cruelly  hard  to  do  them.  I,  too — " 
He  stopped  abruptly. 

Titian  turned  away;  a  few  shining  drops  fell  on 
the  dog's  head.  Then  she  whispered: 

"Do  you  really  think  they  didn't  understand? 
Miss  Em  and  Mr.  Bourne?" 


9o  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I'm  quite  sure  they  didn't." 

"You  didn't  yourself?     Honour  bright?" 

"Honour  bright,"  he  answered,  a  little  huskily. 
"Not  till  you  told  me.  Look  here,  Titian,"  he 
continued,  with  difficulty,  "you  don't  mind  my 
knowing,  do  you?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "But  you're  the  only 
person.  I  couldn't  bear  it  if  anyone  else  knew, 
but — somehow — I  think  I'm  glad  you  do. " 

Fenton  got'  up  and  paced  about  the  room 
for  a  moment  or  two,  coming  at  last  to  a  halt 
before  her. 

"Titian!" 

She  looked  up  hastily  at  the  strained  sound  in 
his  voice. 

"It's  only  that — I — honour  you  above  all 
women,  if  it's  any  satisfaction  to  you  to  know  it. 
I — oh,  I  can't  say  things,  but  you  understand, 
child,  don't  you?" 

"I  understand  that  you  are  always  good  to  me, 
dear  Fenty, "  she  said,  smiling  through  her  tears. 
Then  she  caught  the  hand  that  hung  by  his  side 
and  gave  it  a  quick  little  kiss. 

Fenton  disengaged  it,  and  turned  suddenly 
away.  When  he  found  voice  it  was  in  tones  which 
were  drained  of  all  emotion. 

"Now  I  think  it  is  time  for  us  to  map  out  your 


The  Last  Flick  91 

tour  of  the  world,"   he   said,   with   determined 
lightness. 

"My   tour   of   the   world?     Oh,    Fenty!"   she 
cried,  a  new  light  dawning  in  her  eyes. 


BOOK  II 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  CITY  OF  BELLS 


sense,"  remarked  Miss  Emily 
Gerard,  "  is  so  called  because  it  ought  to  be 
common,  not  because  it  is!" 

"It's  an  admirable  virtue,  Miss  Em,"  returned 
Titian  lazily. 

"Why  don't  you  try  to  cultivate  it,  then?" 

"How  can  you  have  the  heart  to  ask  me  to  do 
anything  so  strenuous  as  to  cultivate  a  virtue  in  this 
dolce  far  niente  place?"  asked  Titian,  changing 
her  position  for  a  more  comfortable  one. 

The  two  were  sitting  on  one  of  the  curved  mosaic 
seats  in  the  garden  beneath  the  broad  plateau  of 
the  Piazzale  Michelangelo. 

Behind  them,  in  the  centre  of  the  Piazzale, 
young  David  in  bronze,  sling  in  hand,  poised  dark 
against  a  luminous  sky.  Above  and  to  their  left 
the  gold  and  marbles  of  the  old  church  of  San 

92 


The  City  of  Bells  93 

Miniato  glittered  in  the  setting  sun.  Beneath 
them  the  avenue  of  cypresses,  up  which  the  Merci- 
ful Knight  had  trodden  the  way  of  redemption, 
quivered  in  the  sunlight  like  black  flames. 

At  their  feet  lay  Florence,  whose  plain  of  red- 
roofed  houses  was  broken  here  and  there  by  soaring 
tower  or  campanile  or  the  bubble  of  church  dome. 
The  Arno,  a  glittering  ribbon  of  gold,  threaded  its 
way  through  the  tangle  of  buildings  to  the  haze- 
dimmed  trees  of  the  Cascine. 

Pigeons  wheeled  and  circled,  their  breasts  flash- 
ing against  the  blue  as  they  turned ;  bees  hummed 
in  the  flowers  that  tumbled  over  the  stone  edges 
of  the  terraced  garden;  all  the  sweets  of  spring 
scented  the  warm  air. 

Just  beneath  where  they  sat  was  a  cream  house 
with  vivid  green  shutters  and  a  little  balcony  with 
a  rust-red  awning.  A  girl  in  a  white  bodice 
stepped  out  upon  the  balcony,  and  leaning  over 
its  rail  began  to  sing.  A  note  or  two  floated  up 
through  the  golden  afternoon  air,  throbbing,  pas- 
sionate. After  a  little,  she  stopped  and  laughed: 
then  plucking  a  sprig  of  scarlet  geranium,  she 
kissed  it  carelessly  and  flung  it  downwards  to 
some  unseen  person.  Then  she  disappeared  be- 
hind the  green  shutters. 

Titian  drew  a  long  breath.     It  was  like  watch- 


94  The  Torch  of  Life 

ing  a  scene  at  a  play,  but  incomparably  better. 
This  was  life.  No  stage  scene  which  she  had 
ever  beheld  approximated  to  reality  as  she  con- 
ceived it.  The  men  and  women  had  always 
seemed  artificial,  the  situations  improbable,  if  not 
impossible. 

Miss  Gerard's  voice  broke  sharply  upon  her 
musings. 

"If  I  did  not  know  you,  I  should  totally  dis- 
approve of  you!" 

Titian  laughed.  "Why?  Because  I  don't  want 
to  cultivate  the  virtues?  After  all,  what's  mo- 
rality? Like  the  sabbath,  it  was  made  for  man, 
not  man  for  it." 

"Titian!" 

"Since  I  came  to  Italy  I  have  felt  that  I  was 
coming  into  my  kingdom.  I  know  that  I  was  a 
pagan  in  a  former  existence.  Haven't  you  ever 
felt  that  you  had  lived  before?  Don't  you  re- 
member the  time  when  '  I  was  a  king  in  Babylon, 
and  you  were  a  Christian  slave?" 

"Certainly  not,"  returned  Miss  Gerard  firmly. 

"Not  even  a  Christian  slave,"  Titian  coaxed. 
"I  wouldn't  have  dared  to  imagine  you  anything 
else,  Miss  Em,  after  the  Colosseum." 

"  If  you  can  imagine  yourself  a  Babylonish  king, 
you  are  capable  of  imagining  anything,"  said 


The  City  of  Bells  95 

Miss  Gerard.  "But  you  were  always  a  great  one 
for  talking  nonsense. " 

The  light  suddenly  died  out  of  Titian's  face, 
and  she  dropped  her  hands  listlessly  into  her  lap. 

"But  that  was  years  ago,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  Illimitable  years  ago.  I  haven't  talked  nonsense 
to  anyone  since,  except  to  Bibi  and  Rufus.  That 
was  when  I  was  young — far  back  in  the  Middle 
Ages." 

"  I  don't  mind  your  talking  nonsense, "  returned 
Miss  Gerard.  "Go  on  if  you  like.  It  amuses 
you  and  does  me  no  harm." 

But  the  rill  had  been  stopped  for  the  moment, 
and  Titian  sat  with  folded  hands  looking  at  the 
scene  before  her.  In  the  gardens  on  the  hills 
opposite,  almond- trees  flushed  rosily  beside  the 
cypresses,  which  always  seemed  to  her  to  be  so 
poignantly  a  part  of  Italy  that  the  sight  of  them 
stabbed  her  with  a  pleasure  that  was  closely  akin 
to  pain. 

It  seemed  as  if  in  the  sun  of  these  wander- 
months  her  arrested  youth  stirred  and  turned 
towards  the  light,  pushing  forth  little  tentative 
shoots  of  growth. 

Over  and  above  the  storied  wonders  of  the  cities 
they  visited,  it  was  life  that  held  for  her  the  greatest 
fascination: — the  life  which  flowed  past  her  in  the 


96  The  Torch  of  Life 

streets,  parks,  shops,  and  boulevards;  the  life 
which  environed  her  without  actually  touching  her; 
the  life  on  whose  outskirts  she  stood,  gazing 
wistfully. 

The  reaction  from  the  warping  influence  of  her 
married  life  showed  itself  in  a  continuance  of 
withdrawal  from  contact.  A  faint  reluctance, 
born  of  diffidence  and  self -distrust,  enwrapped  her 
as  a  cloud  and  prevented  her  from  joining  in  the 
great  procession  as  it  went  by.  Sometimes  her 
heart  stirred  to  the  sound  of  light  steps  tripping  to 
a  lilting  measure.  Sometimes  the  tread  of  strong 
feet  marching  awoke  an  answering  echo  within  her. 
What  tune  would  the  Pipe  of  Life  play  for  her? 
she  wondered.  Oh,  it  must  be  a  gay  one,  a  happy 
one,  a  magic  one,  her  starved  youth  cried. 

Her  pulses  quickened  as  she  listened.  Soon, 
soon  she  would  hear  the  tune  that  would  set  her 
own  feet,  dancing  on  the  high-road.  It  was  as  if 
far  below  in  the  depths  of  her  nature  she  heard 
the  first  faint  bubblings  of  some  hidden  well- 
spring  of  joy  and  delight. 

She  did  not  miss  any  inner  comradeship.  She 
had  never  possessed  it.  Hers  had  been  a  lonely 
mind,  thrust  back  perforce  upon  itself.  As  far 
as  outward  companionship  went,  she  and  Miss 
Gerard  got  on  excellently.  Each  was  content  to  be 


The  City  of  Bells  97 

lenient  with  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the  other.  Miss 
Gerard  dismissed  Titian's  dreamy  enthusiasm 
with  an  indulgent  wave,  and  Titian  ceased  to  look 
for  comprehension  once  she  had  explored  Miss 
Em's  limitations. 

While  Titian,  in  mere  spectator-sense,  saw  life, 
Miss  Gerard  diligently  strove  to  make  the  most  of 
the  unexpected  opportunity  which  had  fallen  to 
her  lot. 

Her  predilection  was  a  curious  one.  Scenes  of 
past  violence,  lit  by  the  red  torch  of  murder,  held 
for  her  an  unconquerable  fascination.  With  an 
avidity  singular  in  a  woman  who  had  hitherto  led 
such  a  placidly  blameless  life,  she  followed  the 
blood-trail  through  the  centuries  with  all  the  zest 
of  a  sleuth-hound. 

In  Paris,  each  detail  of  the  blood-stained  Eve 
of  Saint  Bartholomew  and  the  even  gorier  period 
of  the  Revolution  claimed  her  keenest  interest. 
To  the  riotous  tales  of  the  Commune  she  lent  a 
slightly  less  willing  ear,  while  modern  Paris  she 
dismissed  as  being  frivolous  and  immoral. 

"  How  do  you  know  it's  immoral?  "  Titian  had 
asked  bluntly. 

"I  feel  it  in  my  bones,"  Miss  Gerard  returned. 
"Don't  you?" 

"I'm  glad  to  say  I  don't,"  Titian  answered. 


98  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I  don't  think  my  bones  can  be  as  morally  sensitive 
as  yours,  Miss  Em!" 

"Ah,  that's  because  you're  married,"  retorted 
Miss  Gerard. 

Titian  reddened,  and  let  the  subject  of  Parisian 
immorality  drop. 

In  Rome,  the  Colosseum  had  been  Miss  Gerard's 
favourite  haunt,  and  the  entry  from  which  the  wild 
beasts  were  wont  to  emerge  upon  their  hapless 
victims  drew  her  as  if  with  a  spell. 

In  Florence,  her  imagination  was  captured  by  the 
gloomy  palaces  and  narrow  paved  streets  whose 
gutters  had  run  red  where  Guelph  had  met  Ghi- 
belline  in  the  feud  of  generations.  Splendidly 
insular,  she  traced  the  "streams  of  foreign  gore," 
with  less  horror  than  the  shedding  of  one  drop  of 
English  blood  would  have  given  her. 

Titian  often  teased  her  gently  on  the  subject. 

"It's  history,  my  dear,"  she  always  replied,  as 
if  that  answer  at  once  supplied  argument  and 
excuse. 

Now,  as  their  wandering  thoughts  circled  like 
the  pigeons  over  a  city  wrapped  in  a  golden  haze, 
the  sound  of  bells  came  towards  them  on  the 
mellow  air. 

Titian  roused  herself. 

"If  Rome  is  the  City  of  Fountains,"  she  said 


The  City  of  Bells  99 

dreamily,  "surely  Florence  is  the  City  of  Bells. 
I  never  heard  so  many  or  such  varied  tones." 

"Where  would  you  hear  them,  after  all?"  asked 
Miss  Gerard.*  "Perched,  as  you  were,  like  a  sea- 
gull on  a  rock  at  Camus!  Have  you  heard  lately 
from  Mr.  Mede?" 

"Not  since  we  came  to  Florence,"  Titian 
answered.  "I  expect  that  he  is  very  busy.  I'm 
sure  he  will  have  some  wonderful  studies  to  show 
us  when  he  gets  back.  Dear  old  Fenty !  It's  such 
an  interesting  hobby,  isn't  it?" 

"Photographing  birds?  Well,  I  don't  know. 
It  seems  to  me  that  a  man  might  do  something 
better  with  his  time." 

"Shoot  them,  instead  of  snap-shoot  them," 
retorted  Titian  quickly.  "I  suppose  one  might 
expect  that  from  you  with  your  bloodthirsty 
tendencies." 

Miss  Gerard  rose.  "  Come,  I  think  it  is  time  we 
were  getting  back,  if  you  mean  to  walk. " 

"I  certainly  do,  said  Titian.  I  can't  bear  that 
squeaking  tram.  Let  us  go  down  by  the  cypress 
walk.  I  love  the  story  of  the  Merciful  Knight." 

"Roman  Catholic  legends!"  sniffed  Miss  Gerard 
with  her  most  aggressively  Protestant  air.  "I 
wonder  that  you  can  bring  yourself  to  believe  in 
such  rubbish." 


ioo  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Nothing  so  beautiful  or  helpful  can  be  called 
rubbish.  And  as  for  believing,  isn't  it  better  to 
believe  and  be  wrong  than  not  to  believe  and  be 
wrong?" 

This  saying  gave  Miss  Gerard  so  much  food  for 
thought  that  she  was  silent  until  they  reached  the 
paved  stretch  of  the  Lung  'Arno,  when  she  startled 
Titian,  whose  thoughts  had  wandered  far  afield, 
by  exclaiming: 

"Not  if  it  means  believing  in  all  those  Popish 
legends!" 

"  Oh,  Miss  Em ! "  Titian  began ;  but,  having  long 
since  learned  the  value  of  silence,  she  closed  her 
lips  upon  further  speech. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  WATER-LILY  CITY 

MANY  people  would  have  been  glad  to  make 
friends  with  Titian  had  she  permitted  it. 
Her  beauty  always  caused  a  slight  stir  wherever 
she  appeared — a  stir  of  which  she  herself  was  quite 
unconscious. 

The  richness  of  her  colouring  was  enhanced  by 
the  clinging  black  gown  with  which  Marshall  had 
provided  her;  while  the  look  of  appeal  which  her 
brown  eyes  cast  on  a  still  unfamiliar  world  was 
emphasised  by  the  shadow  of  her  mourning.  It 
was  mourning  seen  through  a  prism,  edged  with  all 
the  rainbow  hues  of  romance. 

Time  had  accustomed  her  to  Arnot's  scrutiny 
and  appraisal.  She  accepted  the  fact  of  her  beauty 
with  a  calmer  spirit  than  that  with  which  she 
greeted  a  blue  morning  or  a  rose-flushed  sunset. 
It  was  there,  but  it,  unlike  these  joy-inspiring  hap- 
penings, was  one  of  the  things  that  did  not  matter. 
She  had  heard  enough  about  it  in  the  years  which 
now  clanked  their  chains  behind  her. 

101 


102  The  Torch  of  Life 

It  was  only  men  who  cared  if  a  woman  were 
beautiful  or  not.  She  had  had  enough  of  men, 
she  thought  in  all  the  arrogance  of  her  ignorance, 
quite  unwitting  of  the  fact  that  if  she  were  ever  to 
drink  of  the  Wine  of  Life  for  which  her  starved 
being  unconsciously  craved  it  must  be  a  man  who 
would  hold  the  cup  to  her  lips. 

This  attitude  of  aloofness  was  carefully  fostered 
by  Miss  Gerard  and  Marshall,  who  looked  with  the 
eye  of  suspicion  upon  any  traveller  however  harm- 
less. They  saw  behind  the  most  innocent  atten- 
tion a  wile  of  the  predatory  male,  while  Titian 
went  on  her  way  serenely  unconscious  of  their 
efforts  on  her  behalf. 

Thus  were  the  difficulties  of  chaperonage  to  a 
young,  rich,  lovely,  and  inexperienced  widow 
modified. 

From  Marshall,  Miss  Gerard  learned  some  de- 
tails of  the  Camus  menage  which  rather  puzzled 
her. 

Poor  Mr.  Fleury,  she  was  told,  had  simply  doted 
on  Mrs.  Fleury.  He  could  hardly  bear  to  let  her 
out  of  his  sight.  He  had  loaded  her  with  dresses 
and  jewels. 

If  this  were  indeed  the  case,  Miss  Gerard  mused, 
it  was  odd  that  Titian  did  not  show  more  affection 
when  speaking  of  him.  She  mentioned  his  name 


The  Water-Li ly  City  103 

as  casually,  even  more  coldly  than  that  of  an  utter 
stranger.  Why  had  she  not  loved  him  more? 
She  had  never  shown  any  real  grief  at  his  loss,  and 
hers  was  a  warm  nature.  Miss  Gerard  lacked  the 
imagination  necessary  for  filling  up  the  chinks  of 
the  known  with  the  merely  conjectural. 

Her  own  affairs  she  resolutely  thrust  into  the 
background.  Sometimes  a  curiosity  as  to  how  the 
misguided  Baldwin's  married  life  was  progressing 
obtruded  itself  through  her  other  preoccupations, 
but  she  pushed  it  back  again  and  slammed  the  door 
upon  it. 

She  had  only  heard  from  him  once  since  she  had 
started  on  her  travels.  It  was  while  they  sojourned 
in  Rome.  The  letter  was  bestrewn  with  Latin 
quotations  which  she  could  not  understand  and 
which  irritated  her  as  much  as  if  they  had  been  the 
successful  Greek  epigrams.  Bits  of  local  news 
were  interspersed  between  the  quotations  and  the 
letter  concluded  with  a  rather  pathetic  allusion  to 
her  good  fortune  in  being  in  her  present  surround- 
ings. "I  had  hoped  to  go  to  Rome  for  our 
honeymoon,"  it  ran,  "but  Gwendoline  preferred 
London.  I  could  not  let  her  feel  that  she  has 
sacrificed  her  youth  to  me,  but  the  traffic  was  most 
disconcerting  and  more  than  a  little  dangerous. 
We  are  very  happy.  Dear  Gwendoline  is  perhaps 


104  The  Torch  of  Life 

not  quite  so  meticulous  in  household  matters  as 
you  were,  my  dear  Emily,  but  doubtless  she  will 
soon  learn.  Felix  qui  potuit  rerum  cognoscere 
causas!" 

"Will  she  indeed?"  sniffed  Miss  Gerard,  ignor- 
ing the  self-gratulatory  Latin  phrase.  "We'll 
see.  Not  so  meticulous!  A  nice  word  to  use. 
I  suppose  that  means  that  the  house  is  filthy,  aye, 
and  the  dinners  raw!  But  what  could  one  expect 
from  a  person  named  Gwendoline?" 

The  reflection  was  not  untinged  with  satisfac- 
tion; but  as  Miss  Gerard  wandered  later  through 
the  Forum,  seeking  in  its  tumbled  fragments  "the 
grandeur  that  was  Rome,"  a  beautiful  single 
column  which  loomed  in  front  of  her  became 
inexplicably  multiplied  into  two  at  the  thought  of 
Baldwin's  underwear  and  table  napery  as  her  worst 
forebodings  conceived  them. 

So  the  scroll  of  their  days  lengthened  until  at 
last  it  unfolded  itself  at  the  Water-Lily  of  Cities, 
Venice,  whose  palace  steps  are  lapped  by  the  green 
ripples  of  the  Adriatic,  whose  very  name  is  redo- 
lent of  romance. 

"Once  did  she  hold  the  gorgeous  East  in  fee." 
And  still  she  bears  traces  of  the  barbaric  splen- 
dour of  such  capture. 


The  Water-Lily  City  105 

Marshall,  who  proved  to  be  as  capable  a  courier 
as  she  was  a  coiffeuse,  engaged  a  suite  of  rooms 
in  the  Hotel  Bianca,  rooms  whose  balconies  were 
veritable  "magic  casements"  to  Titian. 

Her  bedroom  owned  two,  one  which  overlooked 
the  shadowed  mystery  of  a  side-canal,  while  the 
other  jutted  upon  the  sunny  sweep  of  the  Canale 
Grande.  From  it  she  could  see  the  grey  dome  of 
Santa  Maria  della  Salute,  and  the  delicate,  wind- 
blown figure  poised  on  the  summit  of  the  Dogana, 
black  against  a  pearl-tinted  sky. 

Here  was  life  with  a  difference :  the  gay,  gracious 
water  life  upon  which  the  ancient  palaces,  rich  in 
the  dim  magnificence  of  faintly-coloured  marbles 
and  exquisite  traceries,  looked  down  with  all  the 
stately  indifference  of  the  ages. 

Titian  felt  as  if  she  could  not  tire  of  watching  it. 
It  fascinated  her  to  the  point  of  silent  ecstasy. 
She  loved  the  dark  winding  water-ways  which 
threaded  their  green  paths  between  brooding 
mask-like  houses,  past  mysterious  weed-grown 
steps  and  rusty  iron  gate-ways,  past  clamped 
wooden  doors  which  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
closed  upon  the  secrets  of  centuries;  beneath 
pierced  marble  bridges  and  little  spanning  arches 
trailing  creepers  towards  the  sluggish  water;  past 
walls  of  hidden  gardens  over  which  the  roses 


io6  The  Torch  of  Life 

tumbled  riotously,  swinging  censers  before  the 
coming  summer. 

Just  at  first  she  was  content  to  explore  the 
wonders  of  Venice  in  her  gondola ;  and  she  resisted 
all  the  inducements  of  her  gondolier,  Beppe,  a 
handsome,  black-eyed  fellow,  with  a  sprig  of 
scarlet  geranium  stuck  behind  his  ear,  to  visit  the 
manufactories  of  lace  or  glass. 

"Presently,  presently,  Beppe,"  she  said  in 
Italian,  with  a  smile,  and  Beppe,  struck  to  silent 
admiration  of  her  beauty,  ceased  his  persuasions 
until  the  next  day. 

"I  am  afraid  that  the  water  has  washed  away 
the  blood-trail,  Miss  Em,"  she  said,  as  the  gondola 
floated  over  the  dancing  ripples  of  the  Grand  Canal 
on  the  day  after  their  arrival. 

The  sunshine  smote  flashes  from  the  heavy  steel 
prow  and  the  little  burnished  brass  horses  which 
held  the  crimson  ropes  along  the  gunwale. 

Other  gondolas  sped  past  them,  gay  with  silken 
sunshades  and  pretty  women;  gondolas  with  mer- 
chandise, gondolas  ferrying  work-people  across  the 
track  of  the  fussy  steamers.  Everywhere  was 
light,  colour,  movement. 

Long  quivering  reflections  from  painted  gold- 
topped  palle  threw  vivid  splashes  of  colour  across 
the  water,  blue,  orange,  scarlet ;  colour  which  was 


The  Water-Lily  City  107 

repeated  above  in  the  gay  striped  awnings  on 
balconies.  The  air  was  warm  and  scented;  the 
lapping  of  the  water  sweet  as  music. 

Titian  drew  a  long  breath  of  delight. 

"I  know  that  I  have  lived  here  before,"  she 
said,  looking  triumphantly  at  Miss  Gerard. 

"I've  no  doubt  that  we'll  find  you  on  the  walls 
of  some  of  these  palaces,"  returned  Miss  Gerard, 
with  an  unusual  flash  of  insight.  "Isn't  it  here 
that  all  the  Titians  are  to  be  found  after  which  your 
father  named  you?  It  was  on  account  of  your — er 
— auburn  hair,  I  believe,  wasn't  it?" 

"Call  it  red,  Miss  Em,  if  you  like.  I  shan't 
mind  in  the  least,  I  am  too  happy  and  too  excited. 
I  feel  somehow  as  if  I  had  suddenly  joined  the 
pageant.  I  don't  feel  outside  it  any  longer.  Isn't 
that  funny?" 

Miss  Gerard  looked  at  her  critically. 

Certainly  her  beauty  seemed  to  have  blossomed. 
There  was  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes  and  a  deeper  tinge 
of  colour  in  her  cheeks  than  they  had  owned  yes- 
terday. Even  Miss  Gerard's  unimaginative  soul 
was  struck  by  her  curious  response  to  her  environ- 
ment. Leaning  against  the  dark  leather  cushions 
of  the  gondola,  Titian  seemed  to  be  in  her  rightful 
place.  Had  she  -worn  trailing  draperies  of  silk 
and  velvet  instead  of  her  sombre  black  gown,  she 


io8  The  Torch  of  Life 

might  have  been  transported  straight  from  some 
gold-framed  chronicle  of  more  sumptuous  Venetian 
days. 

Sub-consciously  Miss  Gerard  was  aware  of  this; 
but  it  was  her  practical  mind  that  made  practical 
answer,  cutting  across  the  tissue  of  the  other's 
dreams. 

"You're  beginning  to  wake  up.  Your  trip  is 
doing  you  good." 

"Am  I  beginning  to  wake?"  said  Titian,  slowly; 
then  as  if  half  to  herself:  "I  wonder  when  I  shall 
begin  to  live?" 

Low  as  the  murmur  was,  Miss  Gerard  caught  it. 
Her  hearing  was  lynx-like  in  its  sharpness,  and  the 
captured  words  smote  her  uncomfortably. 

From  "if"  to  "when"  is  a  scarcely  less  decisive 
step  than  that  from  wonder  to  desire;  while  be- 
tween desire  and  fulfilment  may  lie  a  barrier  no 
wider  than  a  threshold  or  more  impassible  than 
an  abyss. 

It  was  a  dangerous  train  of  thought,  and  a  dis- 
turbing one  withal. 

Miss  Gerard  plunged  into  lurid  tales  of  the 
Council  of  Ten  and  the  Council  of  Three,  and  drew 
once  more,  in  imagination,  the  black  cloth  of 
oblivion  and  ignominy  across  the  portrait  of  the 
traitor  Doge. 


The  Water-Lily  City  109 

Suddenly  Beppe  turned  the  gondola  into  a  side 
canal  with  a  murmur  of,  "A  shorter  way,  excel- 
lenza. " 

A  sharply  defined  shadow  cut  the  rio  in  twain. 
Along  the  sunny  side  ran  a  paved  pathway  bor- 
dered by  a  railing,  which  suddenly  opened  into  a 
little  square,  with  a  well  sculptured  with  lions  in 
the  centre.  Round  the  square  stood  cream- 
coloured,  red-roofed  houses  with  the  friendly  air  of 
clustered  gossips.  A  woman  or  two  stood  in  the 
open  ddbrways,  children  ran  about,  screaming  over 
their  play  like  the  swifts  in  the  blue  above;  a  girl 
stood  near  the  well,  letting  down  a  copper  bucket 
with  a  cheery  clank. 

As  the  gondola  glided  along,  Beppe  gave  a  low 
whistle. 

Out  of  the  nearest  house  darted  a  pretty  young 
woman  in  a  black  shawl  with  long  knotted  fringe. 
A  child,  whose  rings  of  dark  hair  curled  tight  as  a 
hyacinth's,  was  in  her  arms;  a  toddler,  with  big 
brown  eyes,  clutched  at  her  skirt  and  peered  from 
behind  it. 

She  smiled  and  kissed  her  hand  to  Beppe.  The 
toddler  cried  "Babbo!"  and  hid  its  abashed  head, 
while  the  little  one  in  the  mother's  arms  opened 
and  shut  its  tiny  palm  in  true  Italian  greeting. 

Titian  turned,  with  a  quick  smile,  to  the  gon- 


1 10  The  Torch  of  Life 

dolier.  The  little  scene  touched  a  chord  which 
made  her  eyes  grow  dewy  as  she  looked. 

"Your  wife?"  she  queried. 

Beppe,  all  flashing  teeth  and  eyes,  apologised  for 
his  daring,  in  Italian  so  fluent  that  she  could 
scarcely  follow  it,  in  spite  of  her  months  of 
study. 

Yes,  it  was  his  wife,  he  admitted,  and  those  were 
his  children;  yes,  he  was  twice  father.  The  little 
girl,  she  was  full  of  mischief.  The  son,  already  he 
swung  his  arm  like  a  gondolier.  It  was  a  liberty 
no  doubt  to  bring  the  signore  past  his  own  Campo, 
but  he  trusted  that  they  would  graciously  pardon 
him.  It  was  only  that  he  could  not  resist  showing 
his  Marietta  the  beautiful  lady  whose  gondolier 
he  had  the  honour  to  be. 

Titian,  still  smiling,  told  him  of  the  pleasure  it 
had  given  her  to  see  his  family.  It  was  no  doubt 
foolish  of  her,  she  said  gaily,  but  she  had  never 
thought  of  gondoliers  as  being  married.  She  had 
always  pictured  them  as  standing  under  balconies 
and  serenading  the  beloved  one. 

Beppe  threw  back  his  handsome  head,  and 
laughed. 

"But  that  comes  first,  signora,"  he  said.  "No 
more  balconies  and  serenades  when  one  has  a  wife 
to  work  for.  First  one  must  provide  the  bread  and 


The  Water-Lily  City  in 

wine,  and  then,  when  the  little  ones  come,  it  is 
they  who  supply  the  singing,  non  e  vero?" 

"A  serenade  that  is  not  always  welcome,  per- 
haps?" she  suggested,  smiling. 

" Macche,  no!  Signora.  It  sounds  out  of  tune 
when  one  is  sleepy.  The  signora  speaks  as  one  who 
knows.  She  has  perhaps  a  little  one  of  her  own? 
No?  Che  peccato!  But  there  is  still  time.  To 
love,  to  marry,  to  work,  to  die.  That  is  life. " 

"Do  you  leave  no  time  for  play?"  she  asked, 
flushing  from  the  sudden  thrust  of  his  question 
and  consolation. 

"That  is  understood,"  returned  Beppe,  with  a 
gleam  of  white  teeth.  "A  cameriera  of  her  Excel- 
lency's hotel  gave  me  this  flower  to-day."  He 
touched  the  scarlet  geranium  behind  his  ear.  "I 
wear  it.  It  pleases  her.  To-night  I  give  it  to 
Marietta.  That  pleases  her.  And  all  goes  on  its 
own  feet!" 

He  laughed  again,  and  Titian  laughed  in  sym- 
pathy. 

Here  was  life,  quick  and  vivid. 

"What  is  he  saying?"  asked  Miss  Gerard. 

"He  was  telling  me,"  she  began,  then  stopped, 
feeling  that  Miss  Em  might  not  quite  approve  of 
the  conversation.  "Oh,  just  little  bits  of  human 
nature,"  she  ended  rather  lamely. 


ii2  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Human  nature?"  echoed  Miss  Gerard,  sus- 
piciously. "I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  human 
nature  is  quite  proper." 

"I  am  sure  that  it  often  isn't,"  said  Titian, 
smiling.  "But  it's  life!  That's  what  it  is,  Miss 
Em !  Do  you  feel  that  in  your  bones  ?  I  do. " 


CHAPTER  III 

THREADS   OF  FATE 

nPO  add  a  zest  to  Titian's  days  Fate  spun  a 
*  thread  and  sent  her  an  adventure. 

At  first  sight  it  appeared  to  be  a  mere  episode, 
to  be  tossed  aside  and  forgotten  as  lightly  as  a 
flower,  but  when  the  episode  recurred,  it  ceased 
to  be  fragmentary  and  negligible,  and  assumed 
new  and  distinctly  disturbing  proportions. 

It  was  Miss  Gerard  who  precipitated  matters 
and  brought  to  Titian's  notice  what  might  have 
altogether  escaped  her  observation  had  she  been 
less  watchful  and  suspicious. 

"I  do  believe  that  man  is  following  us,"  she 
exclaimed  one  afternoon. 

"What  man?"  asked  Titian  lazily. 

1 '  There !   In  that  gondola  with  the  old  gondolier. ' ' 

Titian  looked  across  the  intervening  space  of 
water  and  met  a  man's  eyes. 

After  a  glance  she  looked  carelessly  away. 

"I  think  you  must  be  mistaken,"  she  said,  and 
8  113 


ii4  The  Torch  of  Life 

wondered  that  Miss  Em  did  not  hear  the  quick 
beating  of  her  heart. 

For  in  that  one  swift  glance  a  look  had  flashed 
from  thickly-lashed  grey  eyes  to  her  brown  ones 
which  had  thrust  her  back  into  the  vanished  days 
of  her  youth,  and  set  her  pulses  throbbing  as  they 
had  not  done  since  then. 

It  was  not  merely  that  fires  of  admiration  or 
desire  had  burned  in  them ;  to  that  Arnot  had  pain- 
fully accustomed  her.  It  was  something  more  or 
something  less.  Something  which  seemed  to  set 
the  Pan-pipes  playing.  Some  swift  half -com- 
prehended call  of  youth  to  life. 

Her  starved  youth  cried  to  her.  She  turned  to 
look  at  the  trees  in  the  Public  Gardens — a  green 
blur;  at  the  black  poles  that  marked  the  channel 
to  the  Lido — dark  blots  upon  an  opaline  sea. 

When  she  dared  to  look  again  towards  the  other 
gondola  it  had  vanished. 

The  trees  once  more  merged  into  feathery  out- 
line. The  posts  were  silhouetted  sharp  and  clear, 
but  her  face  was  pale  when  she  repeated  her  assur- 
ance to  Miss  Em. 

"I  think  your  studies  of  the  olden  days  have 
coloured  your  imagination,"  she  said,  with  forced 
lightness.  "  You  will  not  be  happy  until  you  have 
us  assassinated  by  hired  bravos,  Miss  Em!" 


Threads  of  Fate  115 

"I  never  suggested  anything  of  the  sort.  I 
merely  remarked  that  a  man  appeared  to  be 
following  us.  I  saw  him  yesterday  too." 

"Miss  Em,  you  must  have  given  him  distinct 
encouragement!"  Titian  laughed,  poised  on  a 
sudden  wave  of  exhilaration. 

"  Do  you  think  I  imagine  it  was  me  he  followed?  " 

"Who  else?"  asked  Titian  calmly,  but  with  an 
air  that  forbade  further  comment.  "The  wicked 
has  ceased  from  troubling  now,  Miss  Em,  so  the 
weary,  as  exemplified  by  you,  may  be  at  rest." 

"I  hate  that  flippancy,"  retorted  Miss  Gerard, 
who  appeared  to  be  distinctly  ruffled. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  are  a  little  inconsistent," 
pursued  Titian,  leaning  over  the  gondola  and 
trailing  her  hand  in  the  water.  "At  one  moment 
you  beseech  me  to  talk  nonsense,  at  another  you 
rebuke  me  for  being  flippant.  Is  it  a  suppressed 
yearning  for  the  unattainable,  Miss  Em?  The 
desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star?  For  what  I  am 
not,  when  I  am?" 

"  Oh,  do  stop, "  cried  Miss  Gerard,  half-laughing, 
half -crossly. 

Titian  shook  the  sparkling  drops  from  her 
fingers  and  leaning  across  laid  her  dry  hand  on 
Miss  Gerard's  arm.  Her  eyes  appealed  for 
understanding. 


n6  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Don't  be  cranky  with  me,  Miss  Em.  You 
said  the  other  day  that  I  was  waking  up.  Let 
me!  Let  me  be  frivolous  and  irresponsible  if  I 
like.  Don't  nip  my  poor  little  attempts  in  the 

bud.  If  you  only  knew But  it's  because 

you  were  part  of  my  youth To  you  I'm 

still  a  child It's  only  to  you  I  can  even 

appear  to  be  young  and — and  silly.  Do  let 
me!" 

Miss  Gerard  was  touched,  she  cleared  her  throat 
in  her  rasping  fashion  and  patted  the  slim  white 
fingers  that  lay  upon  her  arm. 

"Yes,  yes,  poor  child,"  she  murmured  inco- 
herently. "  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  check  you 
in  any  way.  You've  had  a  hard  enough  time. 
Sometimes  I'm  afraid  I'm  apt  to  forget  your 
recent  affliction." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  began  Titian  abruptly,  her 
brow  clouding. 

Miss  Gerard  glanced  at  her.  Here  was  the 
incomprehensible  again. 

"As  for  the  young  man,"  she  continued,  with 
an  outburst  of  generosity,  "I  may  have  been 
mistaken.  He  may  have  been  only  taking  an 
airing  like  ourselves.  At  any  rate  he  looked  a 
gentleman." 

"An  Englishman?" 


Threads  of  Fate  117 

"That  goes  without  saying,"  said  Miss  Gerard, 
resenting  the  implication  of  the  question. 

For  all  that  she  might  read  of  European  aris- 
tocracy, from  Russian  nobles  to  the  favoured 
"born"  of  Germany,  from  princely  Roman  to 
proud  Spaniard,  no  list,  pedigree,  title-deed,  or 
family-tree  could  ever  convince  her  that  the 
"grand  old  name  of  gentleman"  could  possibly 
be  borne  by  any  other  than  an  Englishman! 

"Shall  we  have  tea  at  Florian's?"  asked  Titian. 
"You  can  have  your  photograph  taken,  feeding 
the  pigeons  if  you  like,  Miss  Em,  or  else  go  to  the 
Sala  della  Bussola  and  throw  a  denunciation  of  the 
poor  young  man  into  the  Lion's  Mouth!  I'm 
sure  you  must  have  been  one  of  the  Three  in  a 
former  incarnation!" 

"We'll  let  him  alone  for  to-day,"  returned 
Miss  Gerard  restored  to  good  humour  at  his 
disappearance. 

She  enjoyed  having  tea  at  Florian's.  She 
liked  the  gay  bustle  of  the  Piazza.  It  gave  her 
a  keen  sense  of  pleasure  to  see  the  tourists  (as 
she  always  called  them,  ignoring  the  fact  that 
she  herself  belonged  to  the  goodly  company) 
"making  fools  of  themselves."  She  delighted  in 
seeing  the  British  Papa  immortalised  by  being 
photographed  with  a  pigeon  perched  on  his  tweed- 


n8  The  Torch  of  Life 

clad  arm  and  another  poised  on  his  green  Horn- 
burg  hat. 

So  preoccupied  was  she  with  the  humours  of 
a  family  group  who  desired  to  be  photographed 
"all  together" — first  "with  pigeons  "  then  "in 
gondola,"  that  she  failed  to  notice  the  presence  of 
a  young  man  at  a  table  a  little  way  from  theirs. 
Not  a  young  man  either,  but  the  young  man- 
slight,  well-groomed,  of  medium  height,  with 
strikingly  handsome  face,  and  heavily-lashed  grey 
eyes. 

Titian  became  aware  of  him  as  she  withdrew  her 
gaze  from  the  bubble-like  domes  and  jewelled 
facade  of  San  Marco. 

He  was  caressing  a  small  moustache  and  appar- 
ently studying  the  Bronze  Men  on  the  Clock  Tower 
when  her  eyes  first  lit  upon  him,  but  she  caught  a 
gleam  from  beneath  the  fringed  lids  which  made 
her  turn  away  her  head,  with  an  absurd  feeling  of 
confusion. 

She  moved  her  position  slightly  and  detached  her 
gaze  from  any  part  of  the  scene  which  might  even 
remotely  include  him. 

It  was  ridiculous,  she  thought,  that  the  glance  of 
a  passing  stranger  should  have  the  power  to  dis- 
turb her,  no  matter  how  faintly.  It  was  due  to  the 
secluded  life  she  had  led,  and  was  still  leading. 


Threads  of  Fate  119 

She  must  mix  more  with  men  and  women.  She 
must  try  to  make  friends  with  some  of  the  people 
who  were  evidently  only  anxious  to  be  kind.  Then 
she  would  know  how  to  meet  the  glances  of 
strangers  with  equanimity,  how  to  ignore  them, 
as  she  had  done  hitherto.  She  had  not  noticed 
before  whether  people  had  looked  at  her  or  not. 
It  was  all  Miss  Em's  fault  for  detaching  him  from 
the  throng.  Sharp  as  a  lance-thrust  came  the 
memory  of  Arnot's  face  in  the  church  at  Breston, 
separated  from  the  others  by  that  luminous  ray. 

She  sighed;  then  raised  her  head  proudly, 
pressing  her  foolish  preoccupation  into  the  back- 
ground of  her  thoughts. 

A  tall  Venetian  girl  with  high-piled  fair  hair  was 
coming  across  the  Piazza.  The  sun  struck  glints 
from  her  gold  pins  and  the  round  earrings  which 
swung  as  she  walked.  Her  long-fringed  black 
shawl  stood  sharply  out  against  the  scarlet  flag- 
staffs  as  she  passed  by  each  in  turn.  Her  heels 
clicked  upon  the  pavement.  She  bore  a  great 
basket  of  carnations  poised  lightly  against  one 
hip — crimson,  rose-red,  and  pale  yellow. 

As  she  drew  near  the  table  at  which  Titian  and 
Miss  Gerard  sat,  she  thrust  her  hand  into  the 
basket  and  drew  out  a  bunch  of  the  spice-scented 
blossoms  with  a  smile. 


120  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Will  her  excellency  buy  my  flowers?"  she 
asked,  holding  them  towards  Titian.  "See  these 
rosy  ones,  they  have  the  colour  of  love. " 

"They  are  very  beautiful,"  said  Titian,  taking 
them  and  burying  her  face  in  their  sweet  petals. 
"And  these  crimson  ones,  what  colour  have  they?  " 

The  girl  flashed  a  glance  at  her.  It  held  all  the 
Southern  homage  to  beauty.  "These  have  the 
colour  of  life,"  she  answered. 

"And  the  yellow  ones?" 

"Ecco!  The  sulphur  ones  have  the  colour  of 
jealousy.  The  signora  need  have  nought  to  do 
with  them!"  she  cried,  with  gleaming  teeth  and  a 
toss  of  her  head  that  set  her  earrings  twinkling. 

Titian  drew  out  her  little  gold  purse. 

"I  will  buy  some  of  each,"  she  said. 

The  girl  separated  the  colours  with  deft  fingers. 
The  warm  sun  drew  out  their  odour,  heady  as 
wine. 

"Here,  for  the  most  beautiful  signora,  love  and 
life,  at  such  a  little  price,  excellenza!  For  the  old 
signora  the  flowers  of  jealousy.  They  will  not 
harm  her.  She  must  have  closed  the  door  of  her 
heart  against  them  long  ago." 

She  handed  a  knot  of  the  sulphur-coloured  ones 
to  Miss  Gerard  with  a  most  misleading  smile, 
unwitting,  like  all  superficial  observers,  of  the 


Threads  of  Fate  121 

tinge  of  that  lady's  sentiments  towards  the  errant 
Gwendoline. 

"Love  and  life  at  a  little  price,"  mused  Titian 
when  the  click  of  the  girl's  heels  had  merged  into 
the  other  sounds  of  the  Piazza.  She  smelt  the 
carnations  eagerly.  "Does  one  ever  pay  a  little 
price  for  anything  that  matters,  I  wonder?  Love 
and  life.  I  want  to  know  what  life  tastes  like  at 
any  rate.  Does  it  matter  what  one  pays?  I 
have  paid  heavily  enough  for  the  only  love  I  have 
known. " 

She  gazed  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing,  across  the 
busy  sun-filled  Piazza. 

From  his  table  the  young  man  feasted  his  eyes 
undisturbed  upon  the  lovely  line  of  cheek  and  neck, 
upon  the  waves  of  ruddy  hair  beneath  the  curving 
hat  brim,  upon  the  graceful  contour  of  the  whole 
figure,  upon  the  slim  beautiful  hands  that  held 
the  glowing  flowers;  and  thought  that  never  in 
his  life  had  he  beheld  so  exquisite  a  creature 
or  one  who  seemed  to  be  so  unaware  of  her  own 
beauty. 

She  had  forgotten  his  very  existence  now, — that 
was  evident  to  the  most  casual  observer;  but  he 
would  have  given  much  to  know  if  her  carefully 
careless  movement  as  she  sat  down  at  the  table 
indicated  any  knowledge  of  his  presence.  He  had 


122  The  Torch  of  Life 

haunted  her,  persistently,  but  unobtrusively,  since 
her  beauty  first  swam  upon  him  out  of  a  moonless 
sky,  worshipping  it  with  the  fervency  of  a  Greek 
and  the  impersonality  of  an  artist,  and  wondering 
vaguely  what  man  would  play  Pygmalion  to  her 
Galatea. 

For  the  .moment,  he  had  no  desire  for  closer 
acquaintanceship. 

"She  may  be  a  beautiful  fool,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  if  one  of  Arnot  Fleury's  oft-repeated  phrases 
vibrating  through  the  ether,  had  set  some  respon- 
sive wave  in  motion  in  his  brain.  "She  ought  to 
hire  some  exquisite  old  Palazzo  and  sit  there  for 
hours  letting  herself  be  admired.  Such  beauty 
as  hers  should  be  public.  It  should  belong  to  the 
nation.  However,  if  it  did,  some  enterprising 
American  would  probably  snap  it  up.  As  it  is, 
there  is  still  a  chance  for  England." 

Titian  pushed  back  her  chair  and  rose.  So 
did  Miss  Gerard,  shaking  the  crumbs  from  her 
lap. 

The  young  man  noticed  the  different  way  in 
which  the  two  women  held  their  flowers.  In 
Titian's  hand  they  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the 
picture,  emphasising  the  note  of  life  in  her  glowing 
hair  and  rose-leaf  skin.  Miss  Gerard  grasped  hers 
firmly  but  self-consciously,  with  no  pleasure  in 


Threads  of  Fate  123 

their  beauty,  but  a  determination  to  do  her  duty 
towards  the  giver  by  carrying  her  gift. 

They  moved;  they  melted  into  the  crowd. 

With  a  deep  breath  that  was  almost  a  sigh,  the 
man  rose  too,  and  went  upon  his  way. 


CHAPTER  IV 
"SKIRTS  OF  STRAW" 

A  S  if  Titian  had  truly  evoked  the  Spirit  of 
•**  Life  from  the  flower-girl's  basket,  the  sense 
of  awakening  stayed  with  her,  quickening  her. 

She  felt  as  if  she  had  stepped  across  a  threshold 
into  Venice,  a  threshold  which  led  her  into  a  won- 
der-world; a  world  where  one  lived,  where  one 
had  encounters,  where  things  happened.  The 
happy  zest  of  her  lost  youth  seemed  to  dance  like 
Will  o'  the  Wisp  in  front  of  her,  luring  her  steps — 
whither? 

She  did  not  stop  to  question  or  to  analyse.  She 
only  wanted  to  feel  for  once  what  it  meant  to  be 
young  and  free;  to  feel  what  girls  feel  before  life 
fetters  them.  For  it  does  fetter  them,  she  thought, 
no  matter  whether  their  chains  are  of  gold  or  iron. 
Hers  had  been  gilded,  but  oh,  how  grievously  they 
had  encumbered  her!  They  were  gone  now. 
They  clanked  no  longer,  but  still  her  feet  went 
heavily  because  of  them. 

124 


"Skirts  of  Straw"  125 

She  was  a  girl  still  in  spite  of  her  thirty  years 
and  her  matronly  title.  She  would  capture  Will 
o'  the  Wisp.  She  would  learn  to  do  as  other  girls 
did,  to  enjoy  what  other  girls  enjoyed.  She 
would  learn  to  live,  before  all  the  leaves  of  life 
had  fallen  from  the  tree;  to  taste  its  wine  before 
all  the  drops  had  oozed  out  of  the  cup. 

With  lighter  step,  she  entered  the  courtyard  of 
the  Hotel  Bianca,  still  illumined  by  that  dawn- 
light  of  awakening. 

After  the  brilliance  of  the  outer  world,  the  hall 
seemed  semi-dusk.  Some  people  were  coming  out, 
and  Titian,  turning  aside  to  avoid  them,  collided 
with  a  lady  who  stood  in  the  shade  of  a  great  palm. 

In  the  confusion,  Titian  dropped  her  book  and 
purse.  An  elderly  man  who  followed  in  the  lady's 
wake  picked  them  up  and  handed  them  to  her. 

The  book  was  a  copy  of  the  Rubaiyat  which 
Titian  had  had  bound  in  Florence.  Her  name — 
Titian  Fleury — was  blazoned  delicately  across  its 
vellum  cover. 

The  lady's  eyes,  blue  and  bright,  lit  upon  it  as 
Titian  took  the  book  with  murmured  thanks. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon, "  she  said,  "but  are  you,  by 
any  chance,  Mrs.  Arnot  Fleury?" 

Titian  looked  quickly  at  her.  Her  voice  was 
pleasant  and  there  was  a  familiar  timbre  in  its 


126  The  Torch  of  Life 

tones.  There  was  something  oddly  familiar  also 
in  the  rather  square  face  with  its  blue  eyes  and 
frame  of  faded  fair  hair,  yet  Titian  knew  that  she 
had  never  met  her  before. 

"Yes,  that  is  my  name,"  she  said,  wondering 
how  anyone  should  know  her. 

"What  a  delightful  coincidence!"  the  semi- 
familiar  tones  continued.  "We  have  just  been 
calling  on  you,  and  were  so  disappointed  to  find 
that  you  were  out.  May  I  introduce  my  husband, 
Sir  Hugh  Tempest.  I  am  Mary  Tempest,  poor 
Arnot's  cousin."  She  held  out  her  hand. 

Titian  took  it  in  a  sort  of  dream.  This  must  be 
the  cousin  Mollie  with  whom  Arnot  had  quarrelled 
long  ago. 

"Are  you  Fenton's  sister?"  she  asked.  At  the 
thought  of  Fenton,  her  only  real  friend,  a  little 
waft  of  loneliness  floated  across  her  new-found  joy, 
like  a  wisp  of  mist  across  a  sunny  meadow.  It  was 
the  shadow  of  past  loneliness  cast  by  the  promise 
of  future  companionship,  but  it  lent  an  appeal  to 
her  gaze  which  went  straight  to  Lady  Tempest's 
warm  heart. 

"Of  course,  I'm  Fenty's  sister,"  she  answered, 
pressing  the  hand  she  held.  "He  has  often  spoken 
of  you.  It  is  not  my  fault  that  we  have  not  met 
before." 


"Skirts  of  Straw"  127 

"No,"  answered  Titian  simply.  "You  fell  out 
with  Arnot,  didn't  you?  He  told  me  that  you 
disapproved  of  him." 

Lady  Tempest  smiled  a  little  uncomfortably. 

"That  is  all  past  and  forgotten.  Poor  Arnot 
was  his  own  worst  enemy.  But  I  hope  it  will 
not  prevent  you  from  being  friends  with  us. " 

"I  don't  see  why  it  should.  People  must  judge 
for  themselves,"  answered  Titian,  attracted  by 
Lady  Tempest's  likeness  to  her  brother.  ' '  Fenty 's 
sister  ought  to  be  worth  making  friends  with." 

"You're  a  sensible  young  woman,  Mrs.  Fleury, " 
said  Sir  Hugh  Tempest,  in  a  deep  voice  that 
startled  her. 

He  was  a  delicate-looking  man  of  about  fifty, 
with  mild  eyes  and  a  drooping  moustache,  and  the 
incongruity  between  the  fragility  of  his  physique 
and  the  resonance  of  his  voice  was  striking. 

"  Oh,  please  say  that  to  my  friend  Miss  Gerard, " 
cried  Titian,  with  her  swift  child-like  smile. 
"Miss  Em — why,  she's  gone!  I  should  like  her 
to  know  that  one  person  in  the  world  considers 
me  sensible." 

"  Doesn't  she?"  asked  Sir  Hugh,  with  an  answer- 
ing smile. 

"Quite  the  reverse,  I  assure  you.  But  why  are 
we  standing  here?"  cried  Titian,  all  her  hospitable 


128  The  Torch  of  Life 

instincts  afire.  "Won't  you  come  up  to  my  room 
and  let  me  give  you  tea?" 

"No,  thank  you.  We've  already  had  some. 
Besides  we  must  be  getting  back.  My  husband 
is  forbidden  to  be  out  late.  We've  come  to  Venice 
in  search  of  health  for  him."  Lady  Tempest 
turned  a  look  upon  the  drooping  figure  beside  her 
which  made  her  plain  face  beautiful.  Love,  such 
as  Titian  had  never  seen,  irradiated  every  feature. 
She  drew  back  a  little,  abashed  as  at  the  uncon- 
scious revelation  of  some  treasured  secret. 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  will  find  it,"  she  cried,  impul- 
sively. Then  she  half  regretted  her  words,  fearing 
lest  they  should  think  her — what  was  it  Arnot 
used  to  call  her — "a  gushing  simpleton?"  Yes, 
that  was  it.  He  had  at  least  implanted  in  her  a 
nipping  dread  of  her  own  impulses. 

Lady  Tempest  noted  the  warmth  of  her  response 
and  the  sudden  shrinking. 

"Poor  child,  what  a  life  she  must  have  led!" 
she  thought.  "  We  must  do  what  we  can  for  her. " 
Aloud  she  said  with  a  little  smile:  "I  think  I  may 
say  that  we  are  on  its  track,  mayn't  I,  Hugh? 
We  have  an  appartimento  in  a  delightful  old  pa- 
lazzo  here,  the  Palazzo  Marin.  Will  you  come 
and  have  tea  with  us  to-morrow,  you  and  your 
friend?" 


"Skirts  of  Straw"  129 

"I  shall  be  delighted,  thank  you,  and  I  am  sure 
she  will  too. " 

"  Come  early.  Come  about  four  o'clock, "  said 
Lady  Tempest.  "I  want  you  to  meet  my  daugh- 
ter. She  has  a  wholesome  regard  for  her  Uncle 
Fenty.  I  think  he  is  the  only  being  in  the  world  of 
whom  she  stands  in  awe. " 

"Fenty?"  Titian  echoed.  "I  cannot  imagine 
anyone  standing  in  awe  of  Fenty.  He  is  so  gentle, 
so  kind." 

"Have  you  ever  seen  Master  Fenton  in  a  tem- 
per?" boomed  Sir  Hugh. 

"Never." 

"I  did,  once,"  Sir  Hugh  continued.  "It  was 
with  a  lad  who  had  been  ill-treating  a  dog.  I  never 
forgot  it.  Neither  did  the  lad,"  he  added,  after 
an  effective  pause. 

"Oh!"  said  Titian,  "I  think  I  can  understand 
Fenty's  getting  into  that  sort  of  temper,  but  I 
don't  think  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

"  It  was  a  sight  for  the  gods,"  answered  Sir  Hugh. 
"A  grand  Berserk  rage.  Something  for  which  to 
be  thankful  in  these  bloodless  days." 

"My  dear  Hugh,  if  you  begin  being  Norse  there 
is  no  knowing  where  you  will  end, "  said  his  wife, 
slipping  her  hand  through  his  arm.  "Come  home 
and  read  sagas  to  your  heart's  content,  and  let 


130  The  Torch  of  Life 

Mrs.  Fleury  ponder  over  this  new  revelation  of 
the  mild  and  gentle  Fenty. " 

A  very  true  affection  rang  in  her  tones  as  she 
spoke  of  her  brother,  and  Titian's  heart  warmed  to 
her  because  of  it.  She  had  had  so  little  fondness  in 
her  own  life  that  she  longed  to  sun  herself  even  in 
its  reflection  now.  Whatever  Arnot's  quarrel  with 
Lady  Tempest  had  been,  she  was  not'going  to  take 
it  up.  She  could  not  afford  to  thrust  aside  the 
friendship  that  was  so  graciously  proffered.  What 
would  it  be  like  to  meet  people  who  were  so  friendly 
disposed  towards  her  as  these  people  evidently 
were?  She  had  no  friends  save  Fenton  and  Miss 
Em,  and  while  she  knew  that  one  belonged  to 
another  generation  she  felt  as  if  the  other  did. 
She  had  not  yet  re-adjusted  her  ideas  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Fenton's  age. 

Acting  on  another  of  her  budding  impulses  she 
asked  Lady  Tempest  not  to  call  her  Mrs.  Fleury. 

"It  will  make  me  feel  as  if  I  really  knew  you," 
she  said  flushing,  "if  you  will  call  me  Titian." 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  let  me.  It  is  the  name  by 
which  I  know  you  best.  You  must  remember  that 
we  are  cousins  by  marriage.  Arnot  and  I  were  like 
brother  and  sister  once."  She  sighed  a  little  as 
she  turned  away;  a  sigh  for  one  of  life's  lost 
opportunities. 


"Skirts  of  Straw"  131 

She  had  not  striven  very  hard  to  get  to  know 
Arnot's  young  wife.  She  had  let  hurt  pride  stand 
between  her  and  a  reconciliation  which  might  have 
meant  much  to  this  beautiful  young  creature  who 
looked  at  her  with  such  appealing  eyes.  She  had 
taken  Arnot  at  his  word  and  let  him  alone,  and  now 
the  ghost  of  what  she  might  have  done  rose  re- 
proachfully before  her.  The  path  of  middle  life 
is  haunted  by  such  ghosts  for  those  whose  inner 
vision  Time  has  not  dulled. 

Titian  crossed  the  courtyard  with  them,  and 
stood  on  the  steps  while  their  gondolier  untied  his 
boat  from  the  blue  and  white  palle. 

The  sun  was  setting,  and  Venice  was  bathed  in 
rosy  light.  Bats  flitted  over  the  flushed  water. 

"Don't  forget  to-morrow,"  called  Lady  Tem- 
pest. "Palazzo  Marin.  Anyone  will  tell  you." 

"I  am  not  likely  to  forget.  My  gondolier, 
Beppe,  is  sure  to  know." 

Titian  raised  her  carnations  to  her  face  as  she 
turned  away  and  went  to  seek  Miss  Gerard  to  tell 
her  this  surprising  news.  The  scent,  the  light,  the 
wonderful  day,  the  new  zest,  seemed  merged  into 
one  magic  whole. 

She  smiled  to  herself  as  she  went  up  the  marble 
stairs,  and  many  a  head  was  turned  to  gaze 
admiringly  at  her. 


132  The  Torch  of  Life 

Miss  Gerard  received  the  news  of  the  encounter 
with  unassumed  delight. 

"I'm  thankful  we've  come  across  some  people 
whom  you  can  know, "  she  said.  "  I  went  straight 
on  instead  of  waiting  for  you,  when  that  crowd  of 
tourists  was  going  out.  I  thought  you  were  be- 
hind me.  What  sort  of  looking  people  are  the 
Tempests?" 

"Lady  Tempest  is  like  a  small,  neat,  feminine 
Fenty.  Her  eyes  are  brighter  and  more  alert  than 
his."  She  thought  of  the  look  she  had  seen  in 
them,  and  wondered  if  Fenton's  could  ever  glow 
like  that.  Then  she  reflected  that  she  had  never 
seen  Fenton's  eyes  properly.  They  were  always 
half-veiled  by  his  dusty-fair  lashes. 

' '  Well  ? ' '  said  Miss  Gerard,  impatiently.  ' '  That's 
not  much  of  a  description. " 

"There's  nothing  very  distinctive  about  her, 
I  think.  She  has  Fenty's  nice  smile  and  pleasant 
voice.  I  like  her.  She  seems  kind. " 

"And  Sir  Hugh?    What  is  he  like?" 

"  If  you  can  imagine  a  reed-pipe  with  the  note  of 
an  organ,  you  have  him  in  a  word. " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  got  your  lively  imagination, 
Titian.  Even  if  I  could  mentally  summon  the 
picture  you  suggest  which  is  the  word?" 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  literal,  Miss  Em.     Reed-pipe 


"Skirts  of  Straw"  133 

and  organ,  of  course.  He  is  thin  and  slight  and 
faded  as  a  rush,  and  he  has  one  of  the  deepest 
voices  I  have  ever  heard.  It  booms  at  you  in 
a  most  startling  fashion." 

"Any  family?" 

"Lady  Tempest  mentioned  a  daughter.  She 
must  be  quite  young.  Oh,  Miss  Em,  isn't  it  ex- 
citing to  think  of  meeting  young  people?  She 
will  seem  like  a  child  to  me.  I  wonder  if  I  shall 
know  how  to  talk  to  her.  I  have  forgotten  what 
it  is  like  to  be  young,  and  yet,  deep  down  there's 
something  stirring — stirring."  She  stopped  ab- 
ruptly and  turned  away.  "I  must  put  these  de-. 
licious  things  in  water.  Love  and  life — at  a  little 
price."  She  looked  back  impulsively  from  the 
door.  "Oh,  Miss  Em,  to-night  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
believe  anything — anything  pleasant,  I  mean.  As 
if  one  should  say,  not  that  things  were  too  good  to 
be  true,  but  that  they  were  good  enough  to  be 
true!" 

She  hummed  a  little  song  to  herself  as  she  shut 
the  door  and  Miss  Gerard  saw  "as  in  a  glass 
darkly,"  a  reflection  of  how  joyless  her  days  must 
have  been  when  this  trifling  incident  seemed 
enough  to  flood  them  with  light.  She  felt  a  qualm 
for  a  temperament  so  impulsive,  so  responsive, 
so  unguarded  by  knowledge  or  wisdom  and  she 


134  The  Torch  of  Life 

wondered,  not  for  the  first  time,  how  Titian  would 
fare  in  her  encounters  with  an  unfamiliar  world. 

Titian  herself  had  no  such  qualms.  She  dis- 
patched Marshall  for  vases  for  the  carnations  and 
sang  softly  as  she  stepped  out  on  the  balcony  to 
look  at  Santa  Maria's  looming  majesty  against  the 
sunset.  The  little  figure  on  the  Dogana  with  its 
flying  hair  and  outspread  cloak  stood  black  against 
a  rose-scarlet  sky.  The  ripples  in  the  water  be- 
neath were  red  as  the  carnations.  Bats  circled 
about  her,  one  coming  so  near  that  it  brought  a 
waft  of  cool  air  to  her  flushed  cheek. 

"Is  this  life?"  she  asked  herself.  "This  won- 
derful glowing  feeling?  Am  I  really  beginning  to 
taste  it  at  last?" 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  cheeks.  Certainly 
she  had  never  felt  like  this  at  Camus.  For  a 
thrilling  moment  she  wondered  if  she  were  to  be 
thus  set  alight  by  a  passing  spark  what  would 
happen  if  she  met  a  flame? 

Flames  in  the  sky,  on  the  water,  in  her  cheeks, 
in  her  heart ! 

What  a  fool  she  was!  How  could  she  be  so 
easily  excited  about  nothing?  Why  should  the 
world  look  suddenly  rosy  because  she  had  met  two 
elderly  people  who  seemed  inclined  to  be  friendly? 
It  was  not  anything  personal,  either.  Their  kind- 


"  Skirts  of  Straw"  135 

ness  was  shown  vicariously  for  Fenton's  sake,  and 
not  for  her  own. 

"Perhaps  Arnot  was  wise  to  curb  my  impulses, " 
she  thought,  with  a  sudden  quelling  sigh.  "They 
seem  to  run  riot  when  I  am  left  to  myself.  As  for 
future  flames — as  Miss  Em  says,  it's  only  she  who 
wears  skirts  of  straw  need  fear  a  fire !  I  wonder  if 
I  wear  skirts  of  straw?  I  wonder  if  it  hurts  much 
to  be  set  on  fire?  Some  fires  purify,  while  some 
only  scorch." 

She  thought  of  Arnot's  gloating  gaze  and  of  the 
light  she  had  seen  in  Lady  Tempest's  eyes  an  hour 
ago — an  inner  light  which  had  transfigured  her 
whole  face  like  a  flame  seen  through  alabaster. 

Then  Marshall  entered  with  green  twisted  vases 
and  the  commonplace  closed  in  upon  her  once 
more. 

When  she  was  ready  to  go  down  to  dinner  she 
took  a  knot  of  the  rose-red  carnations  and  thrust 
them  into  the  folds  of  her  belt. 

Marshall  saw  the  action  with  disapproval.  She 
opened  her  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  closed  it  again, 
and  finally  could  not  refrain. 

"Madam,  I  don't  think  those  flowers  are  quite 
the  thing.  With  mourning  one  doesn't — if  they 
were  white,  or  heliotrope — but  that  vivid  pink — ! " 

Titian  arranged  them  to  her  liking  before  she 


136  The  Torch  of  Life 

answered.  Then  she  said  in  a  tone  that  Marshall 
had  never  heard  her  use  before: 

"  Please  understand  that  I  shall  wear  what  I  like, 
when  I  like,  Marshall.  I  am  not  in  mourning  in 
any  sense  of  the  word.  I  have  never  really  pre- 
tended, but  I  am  not  even  going  to  pretend  to 
pretend  any  more!  I  am  going  to  enjoy  life  as 
much  as  I  possibly  can. " 

With  that  she  swept  from  the  room,  leaving  the 
astonished  Marshall  gaping  like  the  fish  to  which 
Arnot  had  not  inaptly  compared  her. 


CHAPTER  V 

ROSE-RED   CARNATIONS 

A  FTER  dinner  Miss  Gerard  retired  to  her 
•**  room  to  write  letters. 

Titian,  too  full  of  her  vague  unrest  to  sit  still, 
too  much  stirred  to  wonder  at  her  new  sensations 
to  take  interest  in  the  written  phases  and  fancies 
of  others,  wandered  from  window  to  window, 
from  table  to  table,  moving  papers,  taking  up 
books  and  putting  them  down  again  without 
looking  at  them. 

Presently  the  sound  of  music  drew  her  to  a 
balcony. 

A  barca  hung  with  lanterns  had  paused  beneath 
the  hotel,  and  the  thin  tuning  sound  of  mandolin 
and  violin  twitched  across  the  stillness. 

With  the  light  step  of  a  girl,  she  ran  into  her 
bedroom  for  a  wrap,  and  found  a  velvet  cloak 
edged  with  ermine  lying  ready  on  her  bed. 

"Marshall  is  really  wonderful, "  she  said  to  her- 
self with  a  smile,  remembering  how  her  maid  had 

137 


138  The  Torch  of  Life 

not  wished  to  bring  the  garment  at  all,  as  she 
deemed  it  "unsuitable  for  mourning  wear!" 
"She  adapts  herself  to  circumstance  with  the  ease 
of  a  chameleon !  Or  is  it  meant  as  a  silent  rebuke, 
I  wonder?  Never  mind,  I'm  going  to  put  it  on. 
I'm  going  to  listen  to  music  on  the  water.  Music 
in  Venice!  How  enchanting!" 

The  soft  fur  touched  her  cheek  pleasantly  and 
nestled  against  her  neck  as  she  drew  on  the  cloak. 
It  reminded  her  of  Bibi,  now  a  stately  courtier  with 
an  Elizabethan  ruff.  Her  arms  felt  suddenly 
empty.  She  pulled  the  folds  closer  about  her  as 
she  went  out  on  the  balcony. 

It  was  a  clear  night.  As  yet  the  moon  was 
hidden,  but  the  blue  depth  of  the  sky  was  fretted 
with  the  silver  fire  of  stars.  The  gondolas'  lights 
flitted  about  the  canal  like  golden  fire-flies,  shed- 
ding flakes  of  orange-colour  along  the  dark  ripples. 
Here  and  there  a  steel  prow  flashed  as  it  caught  a 
ray. 

The  square  awning  of  the  singmg-barca  was 
outlined  with  paper  lanterns,  pink,  yellow,  saffron, 
red,  softly-suffused  globes  of  colour  which  flung  a 
warm  light  upon  the  faces  of  the  singers.  As  the 
barca  swayed,  the  rich  reflections  quivered  on  the 
water  with  a  fantastic  suggestion  of  keeping  time 
to  the  swinging  notes  of  voice  or  violin. 


Rose-Red  Carnations  139 

The  music  was  not  particularly  good,  but  for 
Titian  it  was  touched  with  the  glamour  of  the  time 
and  place. 

There  was  all  the  enchantment  of  novelty  to  her 
in  strains  that  would  have  re-echoed  with  boring 
familiarity  to  others.  There  was  for  her  no  cloy- 
ing in  the  sweetness  of  "0  Sole  mio,"  or  "  Ciri 
biri  bin. "  They  were  fresh  and  magical  as  "  horns 
of  Elfland  faintly  blowing." 

At  last  a  girl  stood  up  to  sing, — a  girl  with  a  pale 
face  and  lips  as  red  as  her  coral  necklace.  She  had 
a  voice  which  throbbed  like  a  nightingale's  through 
the  velvet  dusk.  She  seemed  to  be  caught  in  the 
net  of  some  inner  emotion  as  she  sang.  Titian 
could  see  the  curve  of  her  half -closed  lids  and  the 
dark  crescent  of  her  lashes  against  the  whiteness 
of  her  upturned  face.  It  was  a  love-song  in  the 
soft  Venetian  dialect.  "Amor',  amore,"  pulsed 
through  it  like  a  heart-beat.  The  notes  were 
liquid  and  melting;  the  soft  superlatives  were 
murmured  as  if  for  the  ear  of  the  beloved 
alone. 

A  listening  silence  fell  upon  the  crowd  of  gon- 
dolas clustered  round  the  barca.  Not  a  breath  was 
heard  until  the  last  "amore"  rang  on  the  air  like  a 
silver  trumpet  call,  and  died  away  in  an  exquisite 
diminuendo. 


140  The  Torch  of  Life 

There  was  a  pause,  a  sigh,  and  then  a  burst  of 
applause. 

Titian,  as  she  fumbled  for  her  little  gold  purse, 
found  that  her  eyes  were  wet.  It  was  the  last  song. 
As  the  orchestra  struck  up  a  merry  march  the 
surrounding  gondolas  began  to  disperse.  The 
shifting  lights  of  the  Chinese  lanterns  detached 
white  patches  of  faces  in  them  as  they  moved  away. 

On  the  side  of  the  barca  where  the  girl  sat  a  hand 
began  to  untie  a  rope  that  was  fastened  to  the 
gunwale.  Its  movements  caught  Titian's  eyes  and 
held  them.  It  was  a  strong  brown  hand  and  it 
paused  for  a  moment  as  if  the  knot  were  too  closely 
tied  for  its  undoing.  Then  it  touched  the  black 
shawl  which  the  singing-girl  had  slipped  over  her 
shoulders  with  a  swift  furtive  caress  before  it 
returned  to  its  legitimate  task.  Titian,  fasci- 
nated, saw  the  knot  grow  looser.  Then  the  hand 
slid  round  the  girl's  waist  and  pressed  it  passion- 
ately. The  girl  made  no  sign  except  to  slip  her 
own  hand  over  it  with  a  quick  clasp.  She  half- 
closed  her  eyes  again,  and  her  red  lips  parted  in  a 
smile  as  the  rope  slipped  off  the  gunwale  and  the 
barca  floated  away. 

The  gondola  did  not  follow  it.  Titian,  leaning 
over  the  balcony,  saw  that  it  held  only  one  figure 
beside  that  of  the  amorous  gondolier,  of  whose  face 


Rose-Red  Carnations  141 

she  caught  a  glimpse  in  the  lantern's  flash  as  he 
ran  deftly  back  to  his  place  at  the  stern.  It  was 
a  face  alight,  working  with  some  swift  emotion. 

The  sight  thrilled  her.  The  episode  awoke 
a  sudden  excitement.  She  looked  again.  The 
gondola  had  not  moved.  The  gondolier  kept  its 
place  with  a  dexterous  motion  of  his  oar.  It  lay 
like  a  dark  shadow  on  the  water  beneath,  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  the  other  shadows  save  for 
the  golden  firefly  at  its  prow. 

The  figure  in  the  stern  moved  slightly,  turned 
its  face  upwards  towards  her.  Through  the  dusk 
it  seemed  a  white  blur.  From  the  distant  barca 
came  a  thin  tinkling  of  mandolin,  a  high  wail  of 
violin,  the  sound  of  a  note  or  two  of  far-away  song. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  shadows  beneath  came  a 
nearer  note.  The  man  in  the  gondola  was  singing 
— at  first  softly  as  if  to  himself,  then  with  a  care- 
less abandon,  as  if  he  sang  for  his  own  pleasure 
and  cared  not  if  any  heard.  He  sang  in  English. 
That  in  itself  held  the  elements  of  surprise. 
Titian  listened  eagerly.  She  caught  a  phrase  here 
and  there — happy  lilting  phrases,  beads  of  joy 
strung  on  a  golden  thread  of  song. 

"I  hear  the  bird-song  closes 

Ring  out  in  the  sunshine, 
In  all  the  wood-reposes, 


142  The  Torch  of  Life 

There  runs  a  magic  wine 

Of  music  all  divine. 
All  things  have  scent  and  singing, 
The  happy  earth  is  ringing 
With  praise  of  love  and  June. 
Have  I  alone  no  tune? 
Have  I  alone  no  tune?" 

^/The  voice,  a  light  tenor  of  admirable  quality, 
paused  for  an  instant  on  its  question,  and  then  in 
an  exquisite  cadence  gave  the  joyous  answer: 

"  All  dumb  are  birds  and  singer, 
The  song  in  kisses  dies 
And  sound  of  happy  sighs. 
What  need  of  songs  and  singing 
When  love  for  us  is  ringing 
Bells  of  enchanted  gold? 
Bells  of  enchanted  gold." 

Titian  held  her  breath  as  she  listened.  Here 
was  song  of  a  quality  to  which  her  ears  were  un- 
accustomed. Each  note  was  round  and  perfect 
as  a  pearl,  each  word  coloured  with  its  own  special 
significance.  The  voice  was  not  very  strong,  but 
it  had  a  peculiar  searching  sweetness  that  seemed 
to  pluck  at  her  very  heart-strings  and  set  them 
quivering  in  instant  response. 

She  leaned  farther  over  the  balcony,  but  noise- 
lessly, lest  she  should  disturb  the  singer,  who  had 
ceased  with  his  softly  echoed  "Bells  of  enchanted 


Rose-Red  Carnations  143 

gold."  She  wished  with  her  whole  soul  that  he 
would  sing  again.  Never  in  her  thirty  years  had 
she  wished  for  anything  with  such  a  disproportion- 
ate longing. 

What  was  it,  after  all?  The  voice  of  some 
chance-heard  wanderer,  who,  like  herself,  was 
caught  in  the  magic  mesh  of  a  Venetian  night,  a 
web  spun  of  blue  darkness  and  silver  fire.  Ah, 
but  the  voice  wove  the  final  spell,  made  the 
enchantment  articulate. 

She  heard  a  murmur  from  the  gondolier,  and  an 
answer  in  Italian  spoken  in  crisp  English  tones. 

"No,  Giacomo,  not  yet.  I  wish  to  wait  a  little 
longer." 

"The  night  is  young,  signore." 

It  was  an  Englishman  then.  She  wondered — 
her  cheeks  grew  suddenly  hot.  How  foolish  she 
was!  There  could  be  nothing  in  the  coincidence, 
if  it  were  a  coincidence.  How  she  wished  that 
Miss  Em  had  not  put  that  stupid  idea  into  her 
head!  It  was  too  schoolgirlish  of  her  even  to 
remember  it. 

"I  wish  to  wait  until  the  moon  comes  up  from 
behind  those  clouds,"  the  clear  tones  went  on. 

"  Va  bene,  signore.     She  will  not  now  be  long." 

Titian's  cheeks  cooled  again.  He  was  only 
waiting  to  see  the  moon.  She  had  been  dimly 


144  The  Torch  of  Life 

aware  of  a  growing  brightness  which  was  gradually 
causing  the  mystery  of  shifting  lights  and  half- 
lights  and  velvet  darknesses  to  merge  into  shadowy 
bulk  of  houses,  long  water-ripples,  and  black 
darting  gondolas. 

She  hoped  desperately  that  he  would  sing  again. 
She  sent  her  yearning  towards  the  dark  outline 
in  the  gondola  with  all  the  force  that  she  could 
summon. 

As  if  in  response,  the  pale  blur  turned  upwards 
once  more,  and  the  round  even  notes  welled  into 
the  blue  dusk. 

This  time  the  singer  voiced  the  Wish  of  &dh  in 
a  melody  which  seemed  one  with  the  night,  the 
place,  and  the  magical  words,  so  closely  were  they 
all  interwoven. 

"Had  I  the  Heavens'  embroidered  cloths 
Enwrought  with  golden  and  silver  light, 
The  blue  and  the  dim  and  the  dark  cloths 
Of  night  and  light  and  the  half  light, 
I  would  spread  the  cloths  under  your  feet; 
But  I,  being  poor,  have  only  my  dreams; 
I  have  spread  my  dreams  under  your  feet; 
Tread  softly  because  you  tread  on  my  dreams." 

The  beauty  and  wonder  of  the  song  and  its  set- 
ting held  Titian  spellbound. 

It    was    a   dream-happening,    an    unhoped-for 


Rose-Red  Carnations  145 

glimpse  through  a  "magic  casement."  Her 
fingers  loosed  the  soft  fur  which  she  had  held 
closely  about  her  throat:  her  cloak  fell  back  re- 
vealing the  lovely  line  of  her  neck  and  shoulders. 
Then,  sudden  as  a  silver  flame,  the  moon  sprang 
from  behind  a  barrier  of  palaces,  and  flooded  the 
Grand  Canal  with  light,  frosting  the  fretted 
marble  of  balconies,  and  cresting  each  ripple  with 
crystal  fire. 

Its  rays  fell  full  upon  the  still  figure  on  the 
balcony,  on  the  proudly-poised  head  with  its 
waves  of  ruddy  hair,  waking  to  green  fire  an 
emerald  on  one  slim  clasped  hand. 

The  white  blur  in  the  gondola  revealed  itself  as 
a  face — the  face  of  the  young  Englishman  of  the 
afternoon,  gazing  upwards  with  a  tranced  delight 
at  the  figure  on  the  balcony  above  him,  so  beauti- 
ful in  her  mantle  of  black  velvet  and  white  fur,  so 
exquisitely  right  in  every  detail  of  environment. 
For  a  moment  or  two  he  gazed  his  fill.  Then 
Giacomo  the  gondolier  made  an  unconsidered 
movement,  which  drew  Titian's  eyes  upon  him. 

The  magic  casement  closed  with  a  little  clang 
and  the  "perilous  seas  and  faery  lands  forlorn" 
vanished  from  her  gaze.  She  came  back  to  earth 
again. 

It  was  still  night,  still  enchanting,  still  Ven- 


146  The  Torch  of  Life 

ice,  but  the  real  had  obtruded  itself  upon  the 
ineffable. 

Slowly  her  inward  vision  adapted  itself  to  out- 
ward detail.  Her  gaze  fell  from  the  gondolier 
to  the  singer.  Recognition  was  instant.  She 
flushed,  moved,  drew  herself  up  abruptly. 

The  sudden  movement  detached  the  carnations 
from  her  belt.  They  fell  upon  the  parapet  of  the 
balcony.  She  put  out  a  swift  hand  to  grasp  them, 
but  the  edge  of  her  cloak  swept  them  outwards, 
and  they  slipped,  with  a  warm  waft  of  perfume, 
into  the  gondola  beneath. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  rigid,  transfixed  with 
hot  shame  and  anger. 

"He  will  think  I  did  it  on  purpose, "  she  thought. 
"He  will  never  understand." 

Then,  with  a  chiding,  "What  does  it  matter 
after  all?  I  shall  never  see  him  again,  I  hope," 
she  turned  abruptly  into  the  darkness  of  her  own 
room,  pressing  the  backs  of  her  cool  hands  to  her 
burning  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  TEMPESTS 

THE  Palazzo  Marin  stood  in  a  side  canal  which 
widened  at  the  point  where  it  flowed  into 
the  Lagoon  under  one  of  the  marble  bridges  of  the 
Riva  degli  Schiavoni.  Farther  in,  it  grew  narrower 
and  the  tall  houses  almost  met  overhead,  thinning 
the  sky  to  a  strip  of  blue. 

The  green  water  lapped  sluggishly  at  the  weed- 
grown  steps  which  led  up  to  a  great  gate,  across 
whose  time-worn  surface  the  word  "mystery" 
seemed  to  be  blazoned  in  the  hieroglyphic  of  its 
tarnished  copper  studs. 

To-day  it  stood  hospitably  open,  although  it  still 
bore  its  air  of  secrecy  as  Titian  and  Miss  Gerard 
mounted  the  great  echoing  stairway  to  the  apparti- 
mento  of  the  Tempests. 

In  the  huge  bare  sala,  with  its  expanse  of  marble 
floor  inadequately  dotted  with  rugs  and  its  vast 
walls  hung  with  tattered  and  faded  tapestry,  Sir 
Hugh  and  Lady  Tempest  seemed  almost  micro- 
scopic. 

H7 


148  The  Torch  of  Life 

"We  have  made  an  oasis  here  near  the  window, " 
said  Lady  Tempest,  advancing  to  meet  them. 
"  By  turning  our  backs  on  the  rest  of  the  room,  we 
can  pretend  that  the  desert  does  not  exist." 

"But  it  is  beautiful,"  said  Titian,  with  soft 
enthusiasm.  "Why  do  you  call  it  a  desert?  It 
is  perfect,  and  the  tapestry  is  fascinating.  Look 
at  the  lovely  dim  old  browns  and  greens  and 
purples!  And  the  marbles  of  the  mosaic,  and  the 
beautiful  old  carved  chairs!"  She  looked  around 
her  with  an  unfeigned  delight  at  what  her  hostess 
considered  moth-eaten  rags  and  dust-traps. 

The  afternoon  sunshine  slanted  through  the 
window.  Titian  stood  in  its  light  and  Lady 
Tempest  could  not  fail  to  notice  how  the  faded 
richness  of  the  tapestry  behind  her  set  off  the  living 
richness  of  her  beauty.  With  an  unwonted 
artistic  impulse,  she  drew  forward  one  of  the  old 
carved  chairs  and  placed  it  against  the  tapestry. 

"You  must  sit  here,  then,"  she  said.  "But  if 
you  admire  all  these  ragged  old  things  so  much, 
I  don't  know  what  you'd  call  our  oasis." 

"I  should  call  it  an  anachronism,"  answered 
Titian,  smiling  as  she  stroked  the  lion's  head  on  the 
arm  of  the  chair  with  a  caressing  touch. 

"I  prefer  modern  comfort  to  suiting  ourselves 
to  our  environment,"  put  in  Sir  Hugh.  "We  are 


The  Tempests  149 

anachronisms  in  ourselves.  My  wife  and  daughter 
and  I  have  absolutely  nothing  in  common  with  a 
mysterious,  legend-haunted  Venetian  palazzo.  We 
are  impertinent  in  living  here  at  all,  so  it  is  only 
part  of  our  original  impertinence  to  affront  these 
bare  deserted  chambers  with  our  modern  acces- 
sories. Now  you,  Mrs.  Fleury,  if  you  will  permit 
me  to  say  so,  are  absolutely  in  the  picture.  You 
are  the  right  person  in  the  right  place.  You  look 
as  if  you  had  lived  in  Venetian  palaces  all  your 
life." 

His  voice  woke  resonant  echoes  in  the  big  half- 
furnished  room. 

Titian  smiled;  she  felt  an  odd  sense  of  having 
passed  through  this  scene  before.  The  great 
palazzo  seemed  to  echo  with  the  footfalls  of  elusive 
memories. 

"I  am  sure  that  I  must  have  been  a  Venetian 
lady  in  some  former  incarnation,"  she  said,  still 
caressing  the  carving  with  little  quick  touches. 

"Titian,  when  will  you  learn  sense?"  put  in 
Miss  Gerard.  "  I  admire  Lady  Tempest's  wisdom 
in  making  at  least  one  corner  of  this  big  barrack 
habitable." 

"Sir  Hugh  thinks  me  a  very  sensible  young 
woman,  don't  you,  Sir  Hugh?"  She  appealed  to 
him  as  a  child  would.  "As  for  Miss  Em,  in  her 


150  The  Torch  of  Life  - 

Pagan  days,  which  of  course  she  has  quite  for- 
gotten, she  erected  a  little  altar  to  a  square-toed, 
square-shouldered  godling,  with  straight  hair  and 
a  blunt  nose,  whom  she  christened  the  God  of 
Common  Sense,  and  at  whose  shrine  she  has 
worshipped  ever  since ! ' ' 

"I  like  modern  comfort  combined  with  ancient 
tradition,"  said  Sir  Hugh,  "and  if  I  am  any  reader 
of  character  I  should  say  that  Miss  Gerard  tho- 
roughly agrees  with  me." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  replied  Miss  Gerard, 
obviously  gratified. 

"If  Miss  Gerard  likes  old  traditions  you  had 
better  show  her  the  bloodstain  in  the  dining-room, 
Hugh,  before  the  sun  goes  down." 

"Would  you  care  to  see  it,  Miss  Gerard?  It  is  a 
room  in  which  any  crime  might  have  been  com- 
mitted. This  particular  one  was  what  the  French 
poetically  .call  a  'crime  passionel.'  A  jealous 
husband  hid  behind  the  tapestry  to  surprise  his 
wife's  lover.  He  succeeded.  He  gave  him  the 
extreme  surprise  of  finding  a  dagger  between  his 
ribs!  A  beautiful  bloodstain  marks  the  scene. 
They  repaint  it  for  every  new  tenant,  I  believe." 

"Hugh!"  said  his  wife,  half -laughing,  with  a 
glance  at  Titian  to  see  how  she  took  his  juggling 
with  the  storied  past. 


The  Tempests  151 

But  Titian  was  smiling  too. 

"That's  better  than  letting  it  get  rubbed  out 
altogether,"  she  said,  unexpectedly. 

When  Sir  Hugh  and  Miss  Gerard  had  gone  in 
search  of  the  bloodstain,  she  turned  to  Lady 
Tempest. 

"You  did  not  tell  me  how  you  knew  that  I  was 
here." 

"Fenton  told  me  that  you  hoped  to  be  in  Venice 
in  May,  and  asked  me  to  look  out  for  you.  I  saw 
your  name  in  the  list  of  arrivals  at  the  Hotel 
Bianca,  and  went  at  once  to  call  on  you." 

"That  was  really  kind." 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  child.  I  would  have  done 
more  than  that  for  Arnot's  wife,  if  I  could,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  sigh. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  why  you  quar- 
relled with  Arnot?"  Titian  asked,  diffidently. 
"Don't,  if  you'd  rather  not,  but  I  think  we'd 
understand  each  other  better  if  I  knew  why  you 
fell  out.  You  were  once  inseparable,  Fenty 
told  me." 

"Ah,  that  was  in  the  old  days.  Arnot  was  just 
as  much  of  a  brother  to  me  as  Fenty  then — more  in 
a  sense,  for  he  was  nearer  my  own  age  and  more 
companionable.  When  he  grew  to  manhood  and 
got  the  sole  control  of  his  fortune  he — ran  wild  for 


152  The  Torch  of  Life 

a  time.  Naturally,  as  I  see  now.  You  are  sure 
that  this  won't  hurt  you?" 

"Nothing  that  you  could  tell  me  of  Arnot  could 
hurt  me  now,"  answered  Titian  in  a  low  voice, 
clasping  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

Lady  Tempest  looked  at  her  curiously  for  a 
moment  before  she  went  on.  Her  swift  changes  of 
mood  puzzled  her.  At  one  moment  she  seemed 
gay  and  impulsive  as  a  child,  at  another  grave  with 
the  gravity  of  a  woman  who  has  known  the  searing 
touch  of  sorrow:  now  frank  and  confiding,  then 
withdrawn  into  a  sudden  shy  reticence.  She  was 
as  intriguing  as  an  enigma  to  the  less  complex 
woman  who  strove  to  study  her,  and  who  failed  of 
knowledge  because  she  lacked  the  key- word. 

"He  ran  wild,  as  I  said.  Sowed  a  fine  crop  of 
wild  oats  in  London,  Paris,  Vienna.  When  he 
came  home  to  reap  them,  I  foolishly  put  in  my 
sickle.  I  presumed  on  the  unreal  sistership,  I 
suppose,  and  he — resented  it.  That  was  the 
beginning.  Then  I  married."  Her  face  softened 
and  her  eyes  glowed  for  a  moment,  but  there  was 
no  such  magical  illumination  as  Titian  had  seen 
yesterday.  "You  know  what  young  married 
women  are  like."  She  laughed  a  little,  but  Titian 
was  unresponsive.  "They  think  that  they  have 
a  mission  to  regenerate  the  world,  particularly 


The  Tempests  153 

the  celibate  portion  of  it.  I  had  a  friend,  a  very 
pretty  girl.  Arnot  worshipped  beauty,  as  you 
know." 

This  time  a  perceptible  tremor  ran  over  the  still 
figure  in  the  great  carved  chair,  like  a  shiver  of 
wind  across  a  cornfield. 

"He  was  greatly  attracted,"  Lady  Tempest 
continued.  "She,  too,  was  fascinated  by  him. 
He  had  a  way  when  he  chose  which  few  women 
could  resist.  You  are  sure  you  don't  mind?" 

Titian  shook  her  head.     "Quite,  quite  sure." 

"There  certainly  was  an  understanding  between 
them,  if  not  an  actual  engagement.  Hugh  had 
taken  some  shooting  in  Scotland.  It  was  near  the 
sea.  The  girl,  I  won't  tell  you  her  name,  it's 
better  not,  was  staying  with  me.  Arnot,  we 
heard,  was  cruising  in  his  yacht." 

Back,  in  a  flash,  came  the  moment  of  their  meet- 
ing. The  tapestry-hung  room  vanished.  She 
saw  the  pier  and  the  sunlit  sea,  and  the  advancing 
white  figure.  She  caught  her  breath. 

"You  are  sure  that  this  does  not  upset  you?" 
said  Lady  Tempest  anxiously.  "  I  would  not  hurt 
you  for  the  world.  I  forgot  how  recent  this  is." 
She  touched  a  black  fold. 

Titian  looked  full  at  her.  Some  unknown 
emotion  burned  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 


154  The  Torch  of  Life 

"This,  as  you  call  it,  is  a  mockery.  My  heart 
wears  no  mourning  for  Arnot,  and  that  is  the  only 
grief  that  counts.  Please  go  on." 

"Arnot's  yacht  put  into  the  nearest  harbour. 
The  girl  and  I  were  full  of  delight  and  excitement. 
We  went  down  to  meet  him.  He  had  people  with 
him.  Not  the  right  sort  of  people.  There  was 
a — a  woman,  a  musical-comedy  actress,  an  im- 
possible person.  He  should  not  have  brought  her. 
It  was  an  insult  to  us  both.  Quite  unforgivable. 
She,  the  girl,  broke  off  the  affair  at  once.  I  saw 
him  and  told  him  what  I  thought  of  him.  I  sup- 
pose I  was  uncharitable.  I  know  I  was  too  out- 
spoken. I  was  young  and  happily  married,  and 
since  then  I  have  learnt  that  such  are  wont  to  be 
appallingly  virtuous  and  narrow-minded.  Arnot 
let  me  say  my  say.  Then  he  sneered  at  me,  and 
told  me  that  willingly  he  would  never  see  me  or 
speak  to  me  again.  He  didn't.  After  the  acci- 
dent I  wrote  to  him.  I  begged  of  him  to  let  by- 
gones be  bygones,  to  allow  me  to  come  and  see 
you  even  if  he  would  not  be  friends  with  me  him- 
self, but  he  would  not.  He  refused,  first  through 
Fenty,  then,  in  answer  to  a  final  appeal,  through 
his  man." 

"Hammond!  How  like  him!"  The  past  came 
swirling  round  Titian  like  a  flood. 


The  Tempests  155 

"I  could  not  take  messages  through  a  servant. 
You  understand,  don't  you?  You  forgive  me? 
I  should,  perhaps,  have  been  more  persevering, 
but  Arnot  said  things  that  were  very  hard  to 
bear." 

"He  would, "  said  Titian,  in  the  same  low  voice. 
"It  amounted  to  genius  with  him.  He  always 
knew  exactly  what  would  cut  deepest." 

"He  wasn't  cruel  to  you,  child?"  cried  Lady 
Tempest,  in  swift  incredulity.  "Fenton  never 
told  me  that." 

"What  did  Fenton  tell  you  about  me?"  asked 
Titian,  ignoring  her  question. 

"He  spoke  of  your  beauty " 

Titian  moved  abruptly. 

"Your  loyalty,  your  goodness  to  Arnot,  your 
amazing  patience  with  him.  He  was  full  of 
wonder  at  you." 

The  coldness  ebbed  from  Titian's  face.  Life 
and  warmth  flowed  back  into  it,  softening  it  once 
more  into  its  former  graciousness. 

"Fenton  is  a  good  friend,"  she  said  simply. 

"Will  you  let  me  be  another?"  asked  Lady 
Tempest.  "Forget  what  I  have  told  you.  Rak- 
ing up  the  past  is  rarely  pleasant  or  advisable. 
The  present  is  all  we  can  count  on.  Let's  make 
the  best  of  it." 


156  The  Torch  of  Life 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  Titian  clasped  it 
warmly.  She  was  again  her  old  impulsive  self. 

"It  is  wonderful,"  she  said  quickly.  "Yes- 
terday I  had  no  friends  in  the  world  except  Fenty 
and  Miss  Em.  To-day — I  feel  as  if  I  had  known 
you  for  years.  And  Sir  Hugh  too." 

"Ah,  Hugh  takes  some  knowing,"  said  his  wife 
softly.  "He  is  a  very  fastidious  person,  let  me 
tell  you,  and  is  by  no  means  easy  to  please.  He 
took  to  you  at  once.  But  that  is  not  surprising, " 
she  added  quickly.  "To  begin  with — you  won't 
mind  my  saying  it — but  you  are  so  beautiful,  my 
dear." 

To  her  amazement,  Titian's  face  clouded.  A 
veil  of  disappointment  was  drawn  across  its 
brightness. 

"If  you  only  knew — "  she  began.  Then  she 
stopped  abruptly,  but  a  second  later  spoke  again: 
"If  you  would  only  like  me  for  something  else. 
Won't  you  try?  Beauty  is  so  superficial.  It 
doesn't  really  matter." 

Lady  Tempest  glanced  at  her,  puzzled. 

"That's  an  odd  saying  for  a  woman,  my 
dear." 

"  I  have  learned  some  things  in  a  strange  school," 
Titian  half -whispered.  Then  she  moved  a  little 
as  if  to  shake  off  some  mental  oppression.  "  Won't 


The  Tempests  157 

you  tell  me  something  about  your  daughter.  Is 
she  your  only  child?" 

"No,  I  have  two  sons.  Hugh  is  at  Oxford,  and 
Fenton — young  Fenton  we  have  to  call  him— is  at 
Winchester." 

"  Hugh  and  Fenton, "  Titian  repeated  the  names 
with  pleasure. 

"Yes,  I  called  them  after  my  two  dear  men," 
said  Lady  Tempest,  softly. 

"I  have  never  known  young  people.  I  had  no 
friends  of  my  own  age.  The  only  young  people 
I  have  ever  spoken  to  were  the  villagers  at  home 
and  at  Camus.  At  Camus,  somehow,  I  felt  a 
little  shy  of  them.  I  didn't  quite  know  what  to 
say  to  them.  I  think  I  liked  the  old  people  and 
the  little  ones  best." 

The  naivete  of  the  statement  touched  Lady 
Tempest. 

"Perhaps  one  is  most  in  touch  with  realities  at 
the  opposite  ends  of  life.  In  the  marching  years, 
when  our  vision  should  be  clearest,  we  are  rather 
liable  to  blur  our  outlook  with  the  dust  which  we 
raise  with  our  feet." 

"Ah,  the  marching  years?  You  have  felt  that, 
too?"  Here  was  comprehension  that  was  as  the 
breath  of  life  to  Titian.  She  leaned  forward 
eagerly,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  glowing. 


158  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Of  course." 

"You  haven't  told  me  a  word  about  your 
daughter  yet." 

"My  daughter,  Toye,  is  a  very  modern  young 
person." 

"Toye!     What  a  quaint  name." 

"She  was  christened  Mary  Toye  after  her  two 
grandmothers,  and  when  we  were  wondering  how 
to  get  over  the  difficulty  of  having  a  second  Mary 
in  the  house  she  solved  the  problem  by  calling 
herself  Toye.  Toye  she  has  remained  ever  since. 
It  suits  her  somehow." 

"Is  she  like  you?" 

"  No.  She  is  like  neither  of  us.  She  has  struck 
out  a  line  of  her  own." 

"It's  best  to  be  original  if  possible.  One  is  not 
always  too  grateful  to  one's  ancestors  for  inherited 
traits  or  features.  If  one  is  the  first  of  a  mould 
one  hasn't  such  legitimate  cause  for  grumbling." 

"It  all  depends  on  the  mould,"  returned  Lady 
Tempest.  Her  tone  was  dry.  Again  Titian 
wondered  why. 

"I  wonder  if  she'll  like  me,"  she  said  simply. 
"I  have  led  such  a  secluded  life  that  I  shan't  be 
able  to  talk  of  any  of  the  things  that  interest  her- 
She  will  seem  very  young  to  me." 

"Toye  is  twenty-one.     Of  age  and  fully  emanci- 


The  Tempests  159 

pated.  I  am  sure  she  will  find  plenty  of  subjects  of 
conversation — if  she's  in  the  humour." 

"In  the  humour?"  queried  Titian,  looking  up. 

"My  dear,  you  don't  know  the  modern  girl," 
said  Lady  Tempest  with  a  dry  little  smile.  "  Toye 
herself  will  enlighten  you.  She  is  very  fond  of 
saying  that  the  greatest  affliction  which  Provi- 
dence can  bestow  upon  old-fashioned  parents  is 
an  up-to-date  child ! " 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Titian,  feeling  oddly  dis- 
appointed. "But  you  don't  agree  with  her,  of 
course?" 

As  she  spoke,  the  door  of  the  sola  was  thrown 
violently  open  and  a  tempestuous  figure  rushed 
in:  A  small  slim  girl  in  a  white  frock  and 
smart  bright  green  coat,  wearing  a  hat  with  one 
black  feather  posed  at  an  apparently  impossible 
angle. 

She  rushed  across  the  rug-strewn  expanse,  her 
little  heels  clicking  on  the  marble  spaces.  Be- 
hind her  came  more  discreetly  a  young  man  in  a 
light  grey  suit.  He  wore  a  rose-red  carnation  in 
his  buttonhole. 

"  Oh,  mother, "  cried  the  girl.  "  I  found  Cosmo 
pigeon-worshipping  in  the  Piazza  and  brought  him 
back  to  tea.  He's  horribly  boring.  He's  found 
a  new  divinity,  and  can  talk  of  nothing  else." 


160  The  Torch  of  Life 

She  tilted  a  glance  back  at  the  young  man,  who 
had  paused  perceptibly  when  he  caught  sight  of  the 
figure  in  the  carved  chair. 

Over  Titian's  face  stole  a  slow  burning  blush. 


CHAPTER  VII 

TOYE  AND  THE  TANGO 

HPITIAN  hoped  that  her  confusion  passed  un- 
•*•  noticed  in  the  little  flutter  of  introductions. 
The  young  man,  Mr.  Cosmo  Trevor — "a  neigh- 
bour of  ours  in  Hampshire  and  a  very  old  friend," 
— showed  no  sign  of  recognition  when  he  was 
made  known  to  her.  Not  even  by  the  flicker 
of  an  eyelash  did  he  denote  that  he  had  ever  seen 
her  before. 

Of  course  not!  She  felt  furious  with  herself 
for  that  deep  betraying  blush.  It  was  all  Miss 
Em's  fault  for  her  horrid  prudish  suspicions. 
The  episode  of  last  night  had  been  a  mere 
coincidence,  and  as  for  the  carnation,  the  flower- 
girls'  baskets  were  full  of  them.  Rose-red  car- 
nations bore  a  strong  family  resemblance  to  one 
another.  She  must  curb  these  silly  flutterings 
and  excitements,  this  magnifying  of  the  trivial 
into  the  momentous. 

She  would  have  given  much  for  the  cool  self- 
«  161 


1 62  The  Torch  of  Life 

possession  of  the  girl  before  her,  who  swept  into 
their  conversation,  re-arranging  the  group  and 
taking  the  lead  as  by  right  divine. 

Toye  Tempest  was  surprisingly  different  from 
what  she  had  expected. 

Lady  Tempest  had  spoken  truly  when  she  said 
that  the  girl  resembled  neither  father  nor  mother. 
She  had  certainly  struck  out  a  type  of  her  own,  a 
type  which  to  Titian  seemed  one  of  quaint,  almost 
Byzantine  ugliness. 

Her  hair,  which  she  wore  in  a  sweep  across  her 
forehead  and  coiled  into  a  sort  of  cap  at  the  back, 
was  smooth  and  red — not  the  deep,  beautiful 
auburn  of  Titian's  own,  but  an  uncompromising 
hue  that  verged  perilously  upon  the  sandy.  Her 
face  was  small  and  piquant,  her  nose  tilted,  her 
mouth  wide  and  variable,  now  mutinous,  now 
laughing,  now  passionate,  now  almost  sulky.  Her 
skin  was  intensely  white,  but  its  pallor  was  veiled 
by  a  powdering  of  freckles.  Her  eyes  were  a 
greenish-hazel,  very  bright  and  vital.  They  were 
set  rather  at  an  angle  beneath  slanting  dark-red 
brows. 

It  was  a  face  full  of  possibilities  for  good  or  evil, 
a  face  elfish,  a  face  provocative.  Ugly  it  might  be, 
nay,  undoubtedly  was,  but  it  was  arresting  in  its 
very  ugliness,  and  was  so  full  of  life  that  it  would 


Toye  and  the  Tango  163 

stand  out  where  other  and  even  lovely  faces  were 
passed  over. 

"I  can  only  boast  of  le  beaute  de  diable,"  she 
said  once,  with  the  amiable  desire  of  shocking  her 
mother — a  favourite  pastime  of  Toye's.  "I  mean 
in  the  literal  sense,  and  not  merely  as  applied  to 
youth." 

Now  she  gazed  with  frank  curiosity  at  Titian, 
while  she  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  comment  on 
things  in  general.  Once  she  paused  with  a  hot  cake 
halfway  to  her  mouth,  gave  a  little  chuckle,  and 
cast  a  wicked  sidelong  glance  at  Cosmo  Trevor. 

"My  dear  Toye,  are  you  choking?"  he  asked 
with  pretended  concern. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "I've  been  suddenly 
smitten  with  an  idea,  and  the  event  is  so  unusual 
that  it  made  me  laugh.  You  are  generally  inter- 
ested in  my  ideas,  Cosmo  darling.  Would  you 
like  to  hear  this  one?" 

Cosmo  Trevor  looked  at  her  with  swift  apprehen- 
sion. The  pseudo-affection  of  the  "darling"  was 
nicely  tinged  with  mockery.  Titian  too  felt  a 
vague  uneasiness.  She  did  not  quite  like  the 
ring  in  the  girl's  tone. 

"What?"  she  continued  mockingly.  "Ideas, 
even  ideas  as  brilliant  as  mine  go  begging?  What 
an  age  we  live  in!" 


1 64  The  Torch  of  Life 

"It's  precisely  ideas  as  brilliant  as  yours  which 
have  proved  to  be  the  undoing  of  their  originators," 
returned  Cosmo  calmly.  "You  have  heard  of 
people  being  blinded  by  a  flash  of  lightning?  I 
have  no  desire  to  be  blinded  by  a  flash  of  intelli- 
gence." 

"Intelligence  sounds  like  the  British  Museum 
and  parsons'  wives!"  cried  Toye.  "Call  me  any- 
thing you  like  but  intelligent,  as  you  love  me." 

"But  I  don't,"  Cosmo  retorted.  "I  don't  love 
you  one  bit.  You  don't  deserve  it.  Does  she, 
Mrs.  Fleury?" 

Titian  smiled  with  a  little  embarrassment. 
This  quick  interchange  of  familiar  flippancy  left 
her  outside,  somewhat  bewildered.  It  was  a  side 
of  life  which  had  hitherto  been  untouched  by  her, 
and  she  felt  instinctively  that  it  would  always 
remain  strange. 

To  her  surprise,  it  was  Toye  who  rescued  her 
from  the  difficulty  of  an  answer. 

"I  won't  let  you  appeal  to  Mrs.  Fleury.  It's 
not  fair  to  force  her  to  make  personal  remarks  so 
soon.  By  the  way,  where's  Dad?" 

Lady  Tempest  started.  "I  completely  forgot 
him.  He  took  Miss  Gerard,  Mrs.  Fleury's  friend, 
into  the  dining-room  to  show  her  the  blood-stain. 
They  never  came  back.  I  must " 


Toye  and  the  Tango  165 

"I'll  go  look  for  them,"  said  Toye,  rising. 
"Perhaps  he  has  murdered  her,  or  eloped  with  her. 
How  exciting  that  would  be  of  the  dear  man!" 

She  sauntered  down  the  long  room  humming  a 
tune  as  she  went. 

If  Sir  Hugh  and  Lady  Tempest  were  anachron- 
isms in  the  faded  glories  of  the  sola,  what  was  she? 
Titian  wondered.  As  utterly  incongruous  as  a 
Futurist  picture  would  be  in  the  Doge's  Palace, 
she  thought,  then  chid  herself  for  the  comparison. 

"You  love  Venice."  The  soft  assertion  broke 
upon  her  musings. 

She  turned  to  find  Cosmo  Trevor's  eyes  fixed  on 
her. 

Toye  Tempest  was  fond  of  telling  him  that  his 
eyelashes  were  wasted  on  a  man.  He  had  never 
found  them  so.  They  had  proved  distinctly  use- 
ful in  his  varied  and  pleasant  career.  A  younger 
son,  blessed,  or  cursed,  with  a  competence,  he  had 
drifted  delightfully  to  his  twenty-fifth  year,  un- 
spurred  by  necessity  to  work.  He  was  a  privileged 
person  among  his  friends;  his  thick  lashes  success- 
fully veiled  many  a  fluttering  impertinence.  He 
had  charm  as  well  as  audacity,  an  admirable 
temper,  and  an  excellent  digestion.  Some  women 
complained  that  he  had  no  heart.  Some  mothers 
fancied  that  he  had  too  much,  and  labelled  him 


1 66  The  Torch  of  Life 

dangerous.  His  favourite  pastime  was  playing 
with  fire.  So  far  even  his  beautiful  eyelashes  had 
remained  unscorched.  They  made  his  glance  at 
Titian  inscrutable  now. 

"Of  course,"  she  murmured,  fighting  with  her 
embarrassment.  "But  how  do  you  know?" 

"The  right  sort  of  person  always  loves  Venice." 

"Why  should  you  think  that  I  am  the  right  sort 
of  person?"  She  could  not  resist  the  question. 

"You  should  not  need  to  ask."  His  look  swept 
her,  the  carved  chair,  and  the  tapestry  into  one 
comprehensive  whole. 

"Why?  "  she  persisted. 

Cosmo  was  disappointed.  She  did  not  know 
the  rudiments  of  flirtation  apparently,  and  it 
looked  like  sheer  stupidity  for  one  so  lovely  as  she 
was  to  descend  to  such  obvious  fishing  for  com- 
pliments. 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Fleury ! "  he  gave  a  little  sigh.  Then 
he  began  to  experiment.  "You  are  surely  one 
who  is  susceptible  to  all  beautiful  influences. 
Venice  should  make  an  instant  appeal  to  you." 

"It  does,"  answered  Titian  frankly,  now  surer 
of  her  ground. 

"What  interests  you  most?  The  sad  decaying 
splendour  of  the  palaces  or  the  dream-life  of  the 
lagoons?" 


Toye  and  the  Tango  167 

"Neither,"  she  answered  unexpectedly.  "It 
is  the  homely  everyday  life  of  Venice  which 
interests  me  most.  The  women  drawing  water 
at  the  wells,  the  clink  of  the  copper  buckets,  the 
girls  with  their  swinging  earrings  and  long  black 
shawls,  the  tap-tap  of  their  little  heels  on  the 
pavement.  Oh,  that's  a  delicious  sound!  So 
characteristically  Venetian !  Don't  you  love  it?  " 

She  turned  to  him,  her  face  alight  as  it  had  not 
been  since  he  and  Toye  entered. 

"The  flower-girls'  heels?"  he  ventured,  bending 
almost  imperceptibly  towards  the  carnation  in  his 
buttonhole. 

Titian  flushed.  "Not  especially.  I  delight  in 
them  all." 

"I  should  have  thought  that  the  dim  splendours 
of  the  past,  the  jewelled  beauty  of  St.  Mark's,  the 
legends  of  mad  loves  and  dead  passions  and 
vanished  mysteries  would  have  appealed  to  you 
more  than  anything  else." 

"They  do  appeal.  They  have  their  own  place. 
But  it  is  the  vivid  life  of  the  people  of  to-day  that 
most  appeals  to  me." 

"I  confess  that  the  doings  of  the  proletariat  do 
not  interest  me  in  the  least,"  said  Cosmo  Trevor. 
"Frankly,  I  am  greatly  disappointed  in  you,  Mrs. 
Fleury." 


1 68  The  Torch  of  Life 

Titian's  laugh  rang  out,  gay  and  unrestrained 
as  a  child's. 

"What  a  pity!"  she  cried,  feeling  suddenly  at 
home  with  him.  "I  am  afraid  that  you'll  find 
many  things  to  disappoint  you  in  me  if  we  see 
much  of  each  other.  Things  that  seem  common- 
place and  everyday  to  you  have  all  the  charm  of 
novelty  forme." 

"I  am  willing  to  take  the  risk." 

"What  risk?" 

"The  risk  of  disappointment." 

"Oh,  that?"  She  laughed  again,  but  she 
flushed  a  little  too. 

"I  would  take  any  risk,"  he  continued  in  lower 
tones,  "if  only  you  will  permit  me  to  see  something 
of  you,  Mrs.  Fleury.  The  request  implies  the 
very  recklessness  of  my  courage." 

Titian's  dimple  sprang  into  being.  "Perhaps 
the  danger  isn't  as  great  as  you  imagine, "  she  said, 
feeling  a  tinge  of  pleasure  at  her  new-found  powers 
of  repartee. 

At  that  moment,  Toye  returned. 

"The  worst  has  happened,  I  am  glad  to  say," 
she  announced.  "Dad  has  not  murdered  Miss 
Gerard,  but  he  has  eloped  with  her!  Saunders 
tells  me  that  they  have  gone  to  see  the  Arsenal. 
They  said  they  didn't  want  any  tea." 


Toye  and  the  Tango  169 

Lady  Tempest  came  back  from  the  window  at 
which  she  had  been  standing. 

"I  hope  Hugh  won't  tire  himself,"  she  said 
anxiously. 

"Mother,  you  coddle  him  a  great  deal  too  much. 
If  you  let  him  alone,  he  would  be  twice  as  well." 

Her  mother  turned  as  if  to  speak;  then  checked 
herself.  Her  whole  demeanour  had  altered  since 
the  coming  of  her  daughter.  A  cloud  of  repression 
seemed  to  envelop  her  and  make  her  suddenly 
colourless. 

Titian  could  scarcely  realise  that  she  was  the 
same  woman  who  had  talked  to  her  with  such  sweet 
wisdom  of  her  outlook  on  life  only  half  an  hour 
before.  With  a  swift  flash  of  intuition  she  saw 
something  of  Arnot's  warped  and  warping  dispo- 
sition in  this  little  slim  ugly  girl.  She  wondered 
what  the  warping  influence  had  been.  Surely  on 
the  surface  her  life  seemed  to  spread  before  her 
fair  as  a  meadow.  Was  the  twist  of  mockery 
inherent,  or  had  her  character  acquired  it  by  the 
way? 

Toye  made  a  few  sliding  steps  across  the  floor  to 
them,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Titian. 

"This  really  is  a  ripping  old  room,  isn't  it?"  she 
said. 

Titian   assented  with  an  echo  of  her  former 


170  The  Torch  of  Life 

enthusiasm,  surprised  to  find  such  a  point  of 
contact. 

"For  tango  dancing,"  Toye  added,  laughing 
impishly  at  the  irrepressible  change  in  Titian's 
face.  "Do  you  dance  the  tango,  Mrs.  Fleury?" 

"No,  I  have  never  even  seen  it  danced.  I  am 
very  ignorant  of  modern  life,"  Titian  answered 
simply.  "You  will  scarcely  believe  me  when  I 
tell  you  that  I  don't  know  what  rag- time  is." 

"Oh,  rag- time's  a  tune  with  a  hiccup  in  it," 
Toye  said.  "But  rag-time's  dead,  syncopated 
into  its  grave,  praise  be!  The  tango  is  a  cat  of 
another  colour,  as  the  Italians  say.  To  think  that 
you've  never  even  seen  it  danced!  Such  a  state- 
ment takes  one  back  almost  to  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
though  I'm  sure  the  Serpent  would  have  tangoed 
beautifully !  Aren't  you,  Cosmo? " 

Cosmo's  eyes  were  on  Titian's  changing  face. 
Her  beauty  fascinated  him,  but  her  transparency 
was  beginning  to  amuse  him  as  well.  There  was 
all  the  piquancy  of  contrast  between  the  gracious 
ripeness  of  her  beauty  and  the  suggestion  of  almost 
childlike  immaturity  which  thrust  itself  at  inter- 
vals through  her  manner. 

She  rose  to  go. 

"I  am  sure  that  Miss  Gerard  will  go  straight 
back  to  the  Hotel  Bianca, "  she  said.  "I  must 


Toye  and  the  Tango  171 

thank  you  for  a  most  delightful  afternoon,  Lady 
Tempest." 

"But  you  mustn't  go  yet,  Mrs.  Fleury,"  cried 
Toye,  swaying  towards  her,  her  greenish  eyes 
alight.  "I  could  not  answer  it  to  my  conscience 
to  let  you  go  without  having  taken  the  first  step 
towards  your  education  in  modernity.  Cosmo, 
roll  up  those  rugs  and  we'll  dance  the  tango  for 
Mrs.  Fleury." 

"Perhaps  Mrs.  Fleury  doesn't  care  to  see  the 
tango  danced,"  put  in  Lady  Tempest. 

Toye  laughed — a  little  tinkling  glassy  laugh  that 
echoed  up  to  the  painted  ceiling. 

"That  means  that  you  don't, "  she  cried.  " Poor 
mummy!"  She  turned  to  Titian,  who  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  in  faint  embarrassment. 
"  Dad  thinks  the  tango  isn't  quite  nice,  but  mother 
considers  it  positively  indelicate." 

"To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,"  murmured 
Cosmo  Trevor  in  a  voice  meant  for  her  ear  alone, 
while  his  amused  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  Titian. 

"Oh,  purity's  largely  a  matter  of  anaemia!" 
said  Toye,  shrugging  her  shoulders  as  she  bent  to 
roll  up  a  rug. 

"What  is  your  Uncle  Fenton's  opinion?"  asked 
Lady  Tempest,  stung  into  speech. 

Toye's    face    clouded.      "Bother    my    Uncle 


172  The  Torch  of  Life 

Fenton!  Fenty's  an  anachronism  if  you  like. 
He's  an  early- Victorian  old  woman  who  has  never 
been  emancipated  from  the  crinoline!" 

"Does  he  scold  you?"  asked  Titian,  hoping  in 
her  heart  that  he  did. 

' '  Not  much ! ' '  Toye  laughed  again.  ' '  It  is  not 
wot  'e  sez  but  the  nahsty  way  'e  doesn't  say  it. 
It  would  be  quite  unpardonable  for  any  one  to  say 
the  things  that  Fenty  looks!" 

"  Good  man,  Fenty ! "  said  Cosmo  Trevor.  "  It's 
a  blessing  for  us  poor  ordinary  mortals  that  there 
is  even  one  person  in  the  world  of  whom  you  stand 
in  awe." 

"But  I  don't  stand  in  awe  of  Fenty.  Make  no 
mistake  about  that,  my  good  youth.  I  think  it's 
rather  the  other  way  round.  I  resent  Fenty's 
abominable  capacity  for  silence.  It's  wicked  to  be 
so  secretive  and  self -restrained.  There  should  be 
give-and-take  in  the  interchange  of  opinions." 

"We  all  have  more  time  for  taking  than  giving, 
in  your  presence,  Most  Irrepressible! "  said  Cosmo, 
laughing  softly.  "Now,  if  Lady  Tempest  will  be 
so  good  as  to  play  El  Choclo,  we  are  ready  to  begin." 

"And  remember,  Mrs.  Fleury, "  said  Toye  over 
her  shoulder,  "that  both  as  regards  your  educa- 
tion and  the  tango  it  is  not  the  first  step  that 
counts,  nor  perhaps  the  forty-first!" 


Toye  and  the  Tango  173 

Lady  Tempest  moved  reluctantly  towards  the 
cottage  piano  which  formed  part  of  the  anachron- 
ism of  the  oasis. 

"Toye  will  not  stay  anywhere  without  a  piano," 
she  said.  "We  had  to  hire  one  here.  It  came  in  a 
gondola!  Can  you  imagine  anything  more  incon- 
gruous?" 

"Is  your  daughter  fond  of  music?" 

"It's  one  of  her  crazes.  She  has  a  voice  like  a 
bird.  She  has  had  good  teaching.  Toye,  will  you 
sing  something  for  Mrs.  Fleury  before  you  start 
dancing?  She  would  like  to  hear  you." 

"Please  let  my  charms  dawn  gradually  on  Mrs. 
Fleury.  Too  much  at  a  time  is  not  healthy.  I 
think  the  tango  is  all  she  will  be  able  to  digest 
to-day.  Come,  Cosmo."  She  held  out  white 
hands  invitingly.  There  was  swift  allure  in  her 
posture. 

"  I  should  have  known  better, "  murmured  Lady 
Tempest,  with  a  little  sigh.  "She  never  will  sing 
when  I  ask  her." 

Toye  caught  the  sigh  and  guessed  its  import. 
She  stamped  her  foot  impatiently. 

"Cosmo,  are  you  coming?"  she  cried,  frowning. 
Then  the  frown  softened  as  he  came  up  and  slid  an 
arm  about  her.  She  flashed  a  sidelong  glance  at 
him  that  to  Titian  seemed  charged  with  unexpected 


174  The  Torch  of  Life 

passion ;  but  when  she  looked  again  it  had  sparkled 
into  her  former  mockery. 

There  was  nothing  to  shock  or  repel  in  the  tango 
as  Toye  and  Cosmo  danced  it  in  the  tapestry- 
hung  sola  on  that  May  afternoon. 

Titian  looked  on  as  at  a  stage  spectacle,  ad- 
miring the  litheness,  the  grace  and  dexterity  of  the 
dancers,  who  appeared  to  be  animated  by  a  single 
spirit.  Each  seemed  to  move  in  absolute  concord 
as  they  abandoned  themselves  now  to  the  languor, 
now  to  the  fire  of  the  dance.  There  was  something 
sensuous  in  the  appeal  of  the  music  and  the  woven 
paces  that  set  Titian's  heart  throbbing  as  she 
gazed.  Suddenly  through  it  all  stabbed  a  tiny 
prick  of  loneliness. 

The  dancers,  in  their  isolation  and  the  harmony 
of  their  movements,  seemed  as  one,  dancing  within 
a  fairy  ring  for  their  own  delight,  close-clasped, 
with  eyes  for  none  but  each  other. 

Lady  Tempest,  spinning  the  music  for  their  feet 
to  weave,  was  outside  one  edge  of  the  magic  circle. 
She,  the  onlooker,  was  outside  the  other.  What 
place  had  she  here?  How  could  she  expect  to 
come  in  touch  with  this  young  life? 

As  they  stopped  after  a  final  daring  pirouette, 
Cosmo  Trevor  looked  at  her  across  Toye's  back- 
flung  lissom  body.  Their  eyes  met.  Again  youth 


Toye  and  the  Tango  175 

seemed  to  flow  back  to  her,  to  environ  her,  as  once 
before. 

She  rose,  feeling  a  sudden  glow. 

"It  was  wonderful,  quite  wonderful,"  she  cried 
warmly.  "How  beautifully  you  dance!  I  wish 
I  could  dance  like  that!" 

"We  must  teach  you,"  said  Cosmo.  "Toye 
dances  like  a  fairy,  doesn't  she?  We'll  give  you 
lessons,  won't  we,  Toye?" 

"  Rather,"  said  Toye,  but  her  tone  lacked  enthu- 
siasm. 

"You  will  find  me  a  stupid  pupil,"  Titian 
demurred.  "I  don't  know  how  to  dance  at  all." 

"Not  even  the  antiquated  waltz?"  cried  Toye. 

Titian  shook  her  head.  She  felt  tall  and 
clumsy  beside  the  girl's  slender  grace,  and  now 
Toye  was  making  her  feel  every  day  of  her  years 
as  well. 

"We'll  begin  with  the  waltz,  then,"  Cosmo  put 
in.  "You  look  as  if  you  could  dance  divinely, 
Mrs.  Fleury." 

"Perhaps  for  a  daughter  of  the  gods  like  Mrs. 
Fleury  the  waltz  would  be  more  suitable, "  flashed 
Toye.  "The  tango  is  meant  more  for  little 
devils  like  me.  As  a  French  friend  of  mine  says, 
'Le  tango,  c'est  un  danse  intime!'  Which 
being  interpreted  according  to  mother  means  that 


176  The  Torch  of  Life 

it  can  only  be  danced  with  propriety  with  either 
your  brother  or  your  husband!" 

"Toye,  I  will  not  have  you  quoting  imaginary 
sentiments  as  mine.  I  don't  think  I  have  ever 
said  more  than  a  few  words  about  the  tango." 

Toye's  shrill-sweet  laugh  rang  out,  tinkling  as 
Japanese  wind-bells. 

"You  may  not  have  said  it,  mummy,  but  you 
looked  it.  You  have  your  dear  brother  Fenty's 
capacity  for  looking  unutterable  things.  Do  you 
ride  or  skate,  Mrs.  Fleury?" 

"No,"  answered  Titian,  ruffled  by  the  girl's 
catechism.     "But  I  can  fence.     I'll  take  you  on. 
with  the  foils  any  time  you  like,  Miss  Tempest." 

"I  never  learned  fencing.  I  didn't  think  my 
figure  needed  it." 

The  shaft  went  home,  and  hung  quivering  for  an 
instant.  Arnot's  frenzied  reason  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  her  accomplishment  seemed  to  inspire  the 
girl's  words,  and  prick  through  them.  For  a 
moment,  Titian  felt  as  if  she  hated  her,  as  if 
through  her  recurred  the  old  hurts  which  she  tried 
so  earnestly  to  forget. 

"Fenton  used  to  be  very  keen  on  fencing,"  put 
in  Lady  Tempest. 

"It  was  he  who  taught  me,"  answered  Titian, 
turning  towards  her  with  flushed  cheeks.  "I  am 


Toye  and  the  Tango  177 

afraid  it  cannot  rank  among  the  modern  accom- 
plishments." She  held  out  her  hand.  "You  will 
come  and  have  tea  with  me  soon,  won't  you?" 

Lady  Tempest  thanked  her. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  ask  Cosmo  and  me?"  put 
in  Toye. 

"With  pleasure,  if  you  care  to  come." 

"Ask  us  at  different  times,  then,  please,"  Toye 
continued.  "I  hate  going  about  in  flocks,  like 
sheep.  Dad  and  mother  always  hunt  in  couples, 
unless  Miss  What's-her-name  now  has  come  be- 
tween them.  It  might  be  unwise  of  you  to  throw 
them  together  too  much,  Mrs.  Fleury." 

Titian  remembered  Mary  Tempest's  look  and 
smiled.  Her  smile  was  reflected  on  the  face  of  the 
older  woman. 

"I  think  I  may  safely  take  the  risk,  "she  an- 
swered. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FIRES  OF  SUNSET 

TREVOR  took  his  leave  with  Titian, 
in  spite  of  Toye's  request  that  he  should 
stay  to  try  over  some  accompaniments  for  her. 
Titian  felt  a  little  glow  of  triumph,  as  if  she  had 
scored  an  unexpected  point.  In  spite  of  Toye's  dis- 
claimer, she  had  caught  sight  of  the  flash  of  a  foil. 

Beppe,  all  attention,  awaited  her  at  the  foot  of 
the  water-worn  steps. 

"Can  I  take  you  anywhere?"  she  asked,  when 
Cosmo,  bareheaded,  had  helped  her  into  the 
gondola. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  come  with  you  as  far  as  your 
hotel  I  shall  find  the  rest  of  my  way  on  foot." 

"Oh,  no,  Beppe  will  take  you  wherever  you  want 
to  go, "  she  said,  leaning  back  against  the  cushions 
with  a  sense  of  relief. 

The  setting  sun  had  left  the  canal.  Its  green 
water  moved  sluggishly  past  the  paved  campi, 
swaying  the  weeds  on  the  walls  as  it  passed.  The 

178 


Fires  of  Sunset  179 

shadows  of  the  overhanging  houses  deepened  the 
sense  of  mystery  which  enwraps  the  Venetian 
waterways  like  a  veil. 

Cosmo  Trevor's  voice  was  confidential  as  he  bent 
towards  Titian,  who  was  half-sunk  in  reverie  at 
his  side. 

"How  has  our  specimen  of  modern  girlhood 
impressed  you,  Mrs.  Fleury?"  he  asked  softly. 

Titian  moved  slightly.  "The  type  is  new  to 
me,"  she  answered.  "I  daresay  I  shall  get  used 
to  it.  At  present — '  She  stopped,  every  in- 
stinct rebelling  against  discussing  the  people 
from  whom  she  had  just  accepted  hospitality. 

Cosmo  read  her  thoughts.  "You  need  not 
mind  discussing  them  with  me.  I  know  them  as 
well  as — better  perhaps  than  my  own  people.  I 
confess  that  I  am  rather  curious  to  know  what 
effect  Toye  has  had  upon  you." 

"I  don't  like  her  manner  towards  her  mother," 
answered  Titian  with  some  reluctance. 

This  ingratiating  young  man  seemed  to  draw 
speech  from  her  against  her  will. 

"Ah,  I  thought  that  might  jar.  It  isn't  really 
as  bad  as  it  sounds.  It  is  more  habit  than  any- 
thing else." 

"An  unpleasant  habit." 

"Perhaps.     Until  you  grow  used  to  it.     Lady 


i8o  The  Torch  of  Life 

Tempest  is  a  dear,  but  she  and  Sir  Hugh  are  abso- 
lutely wrapped  up  in  each  other,  and  I  fancy  that 
Toye  sometimes  feels  out  in  the  cold." 

"She  did  not  strike  me  as  being  the  sort  of 
person  who  would  mind  that.  She  seemed  to  me 
to  be  as — well,  as  hard  as  she  is  brilliant." 

"You  mean  flippant,"  corrected  Cosmo  gently. 
"I  think  she  resented  it  in  her  early  youth,  and 
assumed  that  mantle  of  bright  hardness  to  pre- 
vent any  one  from  suspecting  that  she  could 
possibly  care." 

"But  does  she?" 

"Sometimes  I  have  fancied  that  she  does." 

"Ah,  that's  it,  then,"  Titian  cried. 

"That's  what?" 

"I  thought  there  must  be  something  under- 
neath, something  to  account  for  her  rather  vicious 
desire  to  sting, "  Titian  blurted  out,  impulsively. 

Cosmo  laughed.  "She  doesn't  really  mean  to 
sting.  It's  mostly  manner,  acquired  at  first  out 
of  bravado,  but  now  second  nature.  You  must 
get  used  to  modern  manners,  Mrs.  Fleury.  Toye 
and  her  mother  are  on  ideal  terms  as  compared 
with  some  mothers  and  daughters.  Many  mothers 
look  upon  their  girls  as  hated  rivals,  and  most 
daughters  cordially  detest  their  mothers." 

"Ah,  you  are  laughing  at  me!"  cried  Titian. 


Fires  of  Sunset  181 

"You  are  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  my 
ignorance." 

"I  assure  you  I  am  not,"  he  asserted.  "It's 
quite  true.  Wait  until  you  go  into  society. 
Society  spelt  with  a  large  S." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  into  it  if  it  is  composed  of 
people  like  that,"  she  cried  warmly.  "I'm  too 
old-fashioned  to  enjoy  it  or  appreciate  it.  You 
belong  to  it,  don't  you?" 

"More  or  less,"  he  answered,  amused. 

"Then  isn't  this  the  fashionable  time  of  year  in 
London,  when  people — Society  people,  I  mean — 
congregate  there  and  do  things?" 

He  laughed  softly.     She  really  was  delicious. 

"You  are  quite  right." 

"Then  why  aren't  you  there,  doing  things?" 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  a  fiend  called  In- 
fluenza?" 

"Yes." 

"I  don't  know  whether  he  or  fiend  Boredom  is 
the  worst.  I  suffered  from  both,  rather  badly,  and 
when  the  Winstanleys  asked  me  to  come  yachting 
with  them  in  the  Mediterranean  I  jumped  at  the 
chance,  as  energetically  as  the  fiends  permitted." 

"Are  you  staying  on  a  yacht,  then?"  How 
inextricably  her  life  seemed  to  be  mixed  up  with 
the  sea  and  the  ships  that  sail  thereon!  Was  she 


1 82  The  Torch  of  Life 

never  to  get  away  from  the  spider-threads  of  the 
past? 

"No,  not  now.  They  shed  me  here.  I  am  on 
my  way  home." 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry, "  said  Titian, 
with  her  laugh  that  was  so  frankly  childlike,  so 
utterly  different  in  timbre  and  inspiration  from 
Toye's  sweet  sophisticated  tinkle. 

"Who  could  be  in  a  hurry  to  leave  Venice?" 

As  he  spoke,  the  gondola  shot  under  the  dark 
arch  of  a  bridge  into  the  dazzling  brightness  of 
the  great  lagoon. 

"Don't  go  in  yet,"  Cosmo  urged,  moved  by  a 
sudden  impulse.  "It's  too  lovely.  One  so  sel- 
dom gets  the  time  and  the  place  and  the — er — 
appropriate  person  all  together." 

He  wondered  if  she  knew  the  true  version  of  the 
quotation  which  he  had  just  mangled.  She  made 
no  sign. 

"Row  out  into  the  lagoon  for  a  little,  Beppe, " 
she  commanded,  drawing  off  her  long  black  gloves 
and  trailing  one  hand  in  the  water. 

As  she  held  it  up  the  sun's  rays  caught  the  drops 
of  water  at  each  pink  finger-tip,  flashing  them  to 
diamonds,  while  the  green  fire  of  her  emerald 
blazed  for  a  moment. 

Neither  spoke  as  the  gondola  sped  over  the  sun- 


Fires  of  Sunset  183 

lit  water  with  delicious  motion.  The  whisper  of 
the  ripples  at  its  bow  was  soothing  as  music.  At 
last,  with  a  swift  gesture,  Beppe  turned  again  and 
stopped  dramatically. 

The  sun  was  sinking,  turning  the  lagoon  into  a 
sea  of  gold,  barred  by  long  rolling  amethyst  ripples: 
groups  of  palle,  black  against  the  gold,  marked  the 
waterway  to  the  Lido,  a  low  sapphire  cloud  on 
the  horizon.  Chioggian  fishing-boats,  like  strange 
richly  coloured  butterflies,  orange,  yellow,  scarlet, 
drifted  slowly  homewards. 

To  the  right  lay  Venice,  a  fairy  city,  wrapped  in 
an  opal  haze.  The  delicate  atmosphere  changed 
almost  imperceptibly  from  palest  blue  to  lavender, 
rose,  topaz,  turquoise ;  owning,  withal,  an  ineffable 
glory  which  no  jewel  even  remotely  suggests. 

The  gondola  floated  on  enchanted  waters. 
Titian  was  lost  to  all  but  the  beauty  and  wonder 
around  her.  Cosmo's  thoughts  were  held  by  the 
magic  of  the  scene  with  this  rose  of  womanhood 
for  centre  and  the  fires  of  sunset  for  background. 
They  were  aloof  from  their  kind,  detached  from 
the  world,  held  silent  as  if  by  a  spell. 

Suddenly  across  the  still  lagoon  came  the  sound 
of  many  bells,  deep-toned,  thin,  mellow,  clear,  ex- 
quisite. 

It  was  the  Angelus.    Beppe  reverently  doffed 


1 84  The  Torch  of  Life 

his  cap  and  crossed  himself;  then  bent  with  swift 
grace  to  his  oar. 

The  spell  was  broken  with  sound  and  motion. 
With  a  deep  sigh  Titian  returned  to  reality 
again. 

"Ah,  you've  come  back!"  said  Cosmo  softly. 

"Where  was  I?"  she  asked,  the  dream  still 
lingering  in  her  eyes. 

"How  should  I  know  to  what  'faery  lands  for- 
lorn' you  had  wandered?" 

"I  don't  think  I  know  myself.  But  it  was  very 
beautiful — very  wonderful." 

"And  it's  not  like  coming  back  to  earth  to  come 
back  to  Venice." 

"Ah,  you  feel  that  too."  She  turned  to  him 
with  quick  delight.  There  was  something  almost 
pathetic  in  the  surprised  pleasure  with  which  she 
greeted  any  sign  of  mutual  understanding. 

"Venice  itself  is  a  dream,"  he  said,  still  in  the 
same  soft  caressing  tones.  "A  dream  from  which 
I,  for  one,  am  always  sorry  to  awaken." 

"You  needn't  awake  just  yet,  need  you?" 

"I  should  like  this  part  of  the  dream  to  last  for 
ever." 

Titian  turned  away  her  head.  It  seemed  one 
with  the  magic  of  the  evening  that  she  should  be 
here  with  this  man,  whose  eyes  said  even  more 


Fires  of  Sunset  185 

than  his  lips,  drifting  upon  glamorous  waters, 
lulled  by  the  music  of  his  lightly  uttered  words. 
It  was  the  recapturing  of  youth,  this  delicious 
acceptance  of  the  momentary  joy;  this  sensation 
of  easy  companionship  and — something  more. 
It  was  the  something  more,  that  subtly  tinging 
nuance,  which  coloured  the  rest,  and  shone  upon 
the  iris-tinted  wings  of  her  lost  youth  a-flutter 
before  her. 

"No  dream  can  last  for  ever,"  she  said  with  a 
little  sigh.  "At  best  we  can  only  pretend  that  it 
does." 

"That  is  where  the  beauty  of  a  dream  lies.  In 
its  fragility.  If  it  were  to  last  for  ever  it  would 
lose  its  charm." 

"Why  did  you  wish  this  one  to  last,  then?" 

"There  are  some  dreams  that  one  wants  to 
turn  into  realities,"  he  answered,  looking  full 
at  her. 

She  veiled  her  eyes  quickly,  and  her  ready  blush 
answered  his  gaze.  His  words  stirred  her  as  his 
looks  had  done  before.  She  did  not  realise  that 
such  ease  of  speech  must  have  been  won  by  long 
practice  with  other  women.  Some  lovers'  purses 
are  tied  with  cobwebs,  and  the  coins  of  the  man 
who  makes  love  easily  are  worn  thin,  and  polished 
by  constant  interchange.  Her  ears  were  pleased 


1 86  The  Torch  of  Life 

by  their  ready  jingling:  her  eyes  perhaps  a  little 
dazzled  by  their  brightness. 

Beppe  deftly  steered  the  gondola  through  the 
dark  traffic  of  boats  by  the  Doge's  Palace,  whose 
marble  colonnade  and  peach-hued  walls  were 
touched  with  the  rose  of  sunset.  The  winged 
Lion  on  its  grey  pillar  loomed  black  against  the 
sky,  while  its  crystal  eyes  seemed  to  be  afire.  For 
the  moment  of  their  passing  the  Campanile  glowed 
in  its  new  ruddiness.  The  broad  pavement  was 
thronged.  The  sinking  sun  struck  glints  from 
copper  pots  on  the  yoke  slung  across  a  girl's 
shoulders. 

As  they  drew  near  the  Hotel  Bianca,  Cosmo 
bent  towards  Titian. 

"You  will  not  forget  your  promise." 

"What  promise?"  she  asked,  a  little  startled. 

"Your  promise  to  let  me  see  more  of  you." 

"Did  I  promise  that?" 

"You  were  going  to,  I  think,  when  Toye  inter- 
rupted us." 

"Was  I?" 

" I  am  sure  you  were.    Weren't  you?" 

She  shook  off  her  embarrassment  and  smiled. 

"Perhaps  I  was." 

1 '  Will  you  begin  to-night  ?  Will  you  let  me  take 
you  out  in  the  moonlight?" 


Fires  of  Sunset  187 

"To  hear  the  singing?"  she  ventured. 

"To  hear  any  singing  you  wish."  He  flashed  a 
glance  of  understanding  at  her. 

She  grew  frightened.  Her  heart  began  to  beat 
again.  Oh,  what  a  fool  she  was  to  be  so  fluttered ! 
Again  she  longed  for  the  cool  self-possession  of 
Toye  Tempest.  She  shook  her  head. 

"Not  to-night." 

He  did  not  press  her.  "Perhaps  to-morrow, 
then.  If  you  were  inclined  to  be  very  gracious, 
perhaps  you  would  come  with  me  to-morrow 
morning  to  Salviati's  and  help  me  to  choose  some 
Venetian  glass  for  a  wedding  present." 

Her  face  brightened.  Here  was  something  she 
could  do  to  help.  She  possessed  in  abundance  the 
true  woman's  desire  to  give — a  desire  which  had 
never  as  yet  known  real  fulfilment. 

"I  should  like  that  very  much.  Shall  I  meet 
you  there,  and  when?" 

"If  you  will  permit  me  to  call  for  you  and  be 
your  escort —  "  he  suggested. 

"That  will  be  delightful,"  she  returned.  "I 
have  seen  very  little  of  Venice  from  the  inside  yet. 
Miss  Em  loves  shopping." 

"Miss  Em?"    His  face  feU. 

"  I  forgot  that  you  hadn't  met  her, "  said  Titian, 
realising  the  different  aspects  of  the  situation  with 


1 88  The  Torch  of  Life 

a  rush.  "Miss  Gerard,  I  should  have  said.  She 
is  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  travelling  with  me." 

"A  sheep-dog?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  raised  uncomprehending 
brows. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  But  need  you  bring  her? " 
he  continued,  with  clouded  air. 

"  I  think  she  would  feel  very  hurt  if  she  were  left 
out,"  she  answered  simply. 

For  a  moment,  Cosmo  wondered  if  she  were 
really  as  innocent  as  she  appeared  to  be,  or  pos- 
sessed of  a  subtlety  with  which  he  had  not  credited 
her.  He  rather  hoped  the  latter.  Sophistication 
held  for  him  a  far  greater  appeal  than  simplicity. 
He  preferred  jewels  to  flowers,  and  was  no  admirer 
of  the  uncut  diamond.  In  its  roughness,  the  gem 
was  lost  for  him. 

"Bring  her  by  all  means,"  he  said.  "That  is 
understood,  then.  I  shall  call  for  you  both  at 
half -past  ten." 

He  held  her  hand  for  a  moment  longer  than  was 
necessary  at  parting. 

"Time  is  relative,"  he  murmured.  "Don't 
you  agree  with  me?" 

"I'm  not  quite  sure  that  I  know  what  you 
mean." 

"I  mean  that  friendship,  like  other  things,  is 


Fires  of  Sunset  189 

not  to  be  measured  by  moments.  I  have  only 
known  you,  Mrs.  Fleury,  for  an  hour  or  two,  as 
one  counts  time,  and  yet  I  feel  as  if  I  knew  you 
better  than  people  with  whom  I  have  been  inti- 
mate for  years." 

"Do  you?"  asked  Titian,  rather  wistfully.  "I 
wonder  why?" 

"There  are  some  hours  which  count  above  any 
telling.  The  hour  on  the  lagoon.  ...  Be  kind, 
and  say  that  you  felt  it  a  little  too."  His  grey 
eyes  besought  under  their  thick  lashes. 

Titian  was  only  human.  Her  crushed  youth 
stirred  and  troubled  her  to  a  sweet  confusion. 

"Indeed  I  did,"  she  cried  softly,  scarcely 
knowing  what  she  said.  "It  was — it  was  an 
unforgettable  hour." 

"Ah,  thank  you,"  he  breathed. 

Then  he  went  away,  having  rounded  off  his 
moment  exquisite. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TOYE  INTERRUPTS 

TREVOR'S  first  glance  at  Miss 
Gerard  read  prejudice,  if  not  actual  enmity, 
in  every  spare  line.  This  was  a  state  of  affairs 
not  to  be  permitted.  He  never  made  an  enemy 
of  a  woman  if  he  could  possibly  help  it.  Even 
those  for  whom  his  light  love  had  flown  upwards 
as  a  spark,  dying  as  suddenly  as  it  had  risen, 
rarely  felt  a  real  resentment  towards  him. 

"There  is  no  fire  in  grey  ash,"  was  his  general 
consolation,  and  he  seldom  troubled  himself  to  see 
if  the  ash  hid  any  embers  that  might  be  rekindled 
into  flame. 

On  this  dancing  May  morning,  when  white 
clouds  slipped  joyously  across  a  vivid  blue  sky, 
any  attitude  of  disapproval  was  not  to  be  con- 
templated. 

"I  must  tame  this  dragon  until  she  comes  and 
eats  sugar  out  of  my  hand, "  he  thought. 

He  was  almost  as  sensitive  towards  dislike  as  a 
190 


Toye  Interrupts  191 

young  girl.  It  made  him  curl  up  inside,  he 
used  to  say,  and  he  never  spared  his  efforts  until 
he  had  changed  the  atmosphere  to  that  degree  of 
warmth  in  which  his  sun-loving  personality  best 
expanded. 

The  subjugation  of  Miss  Gerard  was  by  no 
means  one  of  his  most  difficult  achievements. 
The  most  rigid  spinster  is  only  a  man-hater  until 
some  man  begins  to  pay  court  to  her. 

Cosmo  Trevor  deferred  to  Miss  Gerard's  opinion 
as  well  as  to  Titian's,  as  she  stood  tranced  at  the 
beauty  of  the  glass,  the  gold-flecked  beakers,  the 
amber  and  opal  and  sea-green  shapes  of  exquisite 
beauty  which  had  been  blown,  like  bubbles,  by 
Venetian  lips  into  the  clasp  of  golden  dragon  or 
sea-horse. 

"They're  not  any  better  than  your  own  at 
Camus,"  said  Miss  Gerard,  at  last. 

"Oh,  no.  Mine  are  beautiful,  but  these  are 
beautiful  too." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  Venetian 
glass  like  this  at  home?"  Cosmo  asked. 

Titian  smiled  with  a  new  joy  of  possession. 

"Yes.     And  we  use  it  every  day  too." 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  added  interest.  "You 
do?  How  delightful !  How  perfect!  How  abso- 
lutely right!" 


192  The  Torch  of  Life 

"And  my  table-cloths  are  strips  of  finest  linen, 
edged  and  inset  with  Venetian  lace." 

"No  wonder  I  called  you  an  appropriate 
person,"  he  said.  "How  exquisite  of  you  to 
surround  yourself  with  what  suits  you  so  ex- 
actly!" 

"It  was  not  my  doing,"  said  Titian,  quick  to 
disclaim  praise  that  was  not  her  due.  "My 
husband  bought  and  chose  the  things.  They  were 
there  when  I  arrived."  She  stifled  a  sigh.  "But 
I  love  them,  all  the  same." 

"Of  course.  Will  you  come  with  me  now  to  a 
lace  shop  and  show  me  the  sort  of  lace  you've  got. 
Then  I  can  picture  you  with  all  your  beautiful 
accessories." 

"I  didn't  think  men  cared  about  lace." 

"  I  care  about  all  things  lovely."  He  sharpened 
the  point  of  his  remark  with  a  glance. 

She  turned  towards  the  door.  Such  inferences 
held  embarrassment. 

The  vast  arcaded  Piazza,  was  thronged  with 
people.  The  gold  tops  of  the  scarlet  flag-staffs 
and  the  ramping  Bronze  Horses  on  San  Marco 
glittered  in  the  sun,  which  shone  full  upon  the 
jewel-like  mosaic.  Pigeons  fluttered  and  alighted 
in  clouds,  scarcely  moving  from  beneath  the  feet 
of  the  saunterers. 


Toye  Interrupts  193 

Trevor  led  the  way  to  a  window  full  of  specimens 
of  lace. 

"Are  your  possessions  anything  like  these?"  he 
asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Mine  are  much  better, " 
she  said.  "  There,  that  oval  cloth  with  the  medal- 
lions— do  you  see  it?  I  have  two  something  like 
that,  only  I  think  that  the  work  on  mine  is  finer." 

For  a  moment,  he  wondered  if  she  were  boasting, 
but  her  evident  sincerity  disarmed  him,  and  the 
thought  of  the  fitness  of  her  surroundings  gave  him 
a  moment  of  aesthetic  pleasure. 

Titian  seemed  to  divine  his  thoughts. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  see  them  one  day, "  she  began 
diffidently. 

"Oh,  do  give  a  house-party  and  ask  me,"  he 
responded. 

"And  me  too,"  said  a  voice  behind  them. 

They  turned,  startled,  to  see  Toye  Tempest,  her 
greenish  eyes  alight  with  mischief.  Her  father  and 
mother  lingered  a  few  paces  away,  looking  into  a 
shop  window  in  which  dangled  beads  of  every 
colour  imaginable. 

"How  nice  to  meet  you!"  Toye  cried.  "You 
looked  so  absorbed  that  I  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  of  startling  you.  I  am  bored  to  tears. 
Mother  and  Dad  will  stop  to  look  in  at  every 

13 


194  The  Torch  of  Life 

window.  Mother  now  can't  tear  herself  away 
from  those  beads.  There's  nothing  of  the  primi- 
tive about  me.  I  have  no  desire  to  revert  to  the 
squaw  and  hang  myself  with  beads.  Have  you, 
Mrs.Fleury?" 

"No,"  answered  Titian.  She  felt  sorry  that 
this  interruption  had  struck  across  the  path  of 
their  wanderings.  She  had  been  quite  happy 
strolling  from  shop  to  shop,  warmed  by  the 
pleasant  sense  of  Cosmo  Trevor's  nearness  and 
understanding. 

As  she  turned  with  a  feeling  of  relief  to  greet 
Sir  Hugh  and  Lady  Tempest,  her  quick  ears 
caught  Toye's  sotto  voce: 

"I  say,  Cosmo,  you  have  been  making  hay!" 

She  flushed  hotly.     The  girl  was  intolerable. 

Lady  Tempest  wondered  what  had  occurred  to 
stir  her.  Was  it  annoyance  at  their  interruption? 
Had  the  incorrigible  Cosmo  already  begun  to  make 
love  to  her?  She  could  not  imagine  anyone  as 
taking  Cosmo  seriously,  ignoring  the  vast  differ- 
ences that  may  lie  between  one  point  of  view  and 
another. 

"Have  you  heard  that  Fenty  is  coming  to 
Venice,  my  dear?"  was  her  first  question.  "But 
I  suppose  you  have,  as  it  is  your  affairs  which 
are  occupying  him." 


Toye  Interrupts  195 

"Yes,  I  heard  this  morning.  Isn't  it  delight- 
ful?" Her  voice  softened.  "Venice  certainly  is 
my  lucky  place.  Look  at  all  the  friends  I  have 
found  here!  And  now  Fenty.  I  hope  he  won't 
be  too  full  of  business  to  enjoy  things." 

"I  am  sure  he  won't,"  said  Lady  Tempest. 
"But  I  suppose  you  ought  to  learn  about  the 
management  of  your  own  property.  You  have  a 
certain  responsibility ' 

"Dear  Lady  Tempest,  I  know.  When  I  go 
home,  when  my  wanderings  are  over,  I  am  going 
to  be  very  good  and  learn  everything  I  can,  and 
give  Fenty  as  little  trouble  as  possible.  But  this 
is  my  holiday.  I  am  just  learning  how  to  enjoy 
life,  how  to  be  young,  how  to — forget."  Her 
voice  fell.  "That's  why  I  hope  Fenty  will  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  the  place,  and  play  a  little,  as  I 
want  to  do." 

"Poor  child,  your  youth  seems  to  have  been 
starved." 

"It  was  beaten  as  well,"  cried  Titian  with 
sudden  passion.  "I  wonder  that  you  don't  see 
the  marks.  But  why  do  we  think  of  these  horrible 
things  in  this  lovely  place?  I've  put  the  past 
behind  me.  I'm  really  looking  resolutely  towards 
the  future." 

"I  hope  it  will  be  a  very  sunny  one." 


196  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I  suppose  we  need  clouds  to  make  us  appre- 
ciate the  sunshine,"  Titian  said,  with  her  open 
smile. 

Lady  Tempest  gave  her  arm  a  quick  little 
squeeze. 

"I  wish  Toye  had  been  more  like  you,"  she 
said,  impulsively. 

Toye  and  Cosmo  walked  behind  at  a  discreet 
distance.  Her  hat-brim  tilted  over  and  com- 
pletely obscured  her  right  eye,  and  her  raiment 
expressed  the  latest  word  in  smart  simplicity. 
The  eye  which  was  visible  glittered  like  a  jewel. 
For  a  moment,  Cosmo  shrank  from  its  darting 
brightness. 

"Yes,  you  have  been  making  hay, "  she  repeated 
slowly.  "Really,  Cosmo,  I  admire  you  beyond 
words." 

"May  I  ask  why?"  His  tone  was  slightly 
ruffled. 

"For  your  absolute  'lightness'  in  putting  salt 
on  the  golden  tail  of  Opportunity." 

He  reddened.  "How  long  were  you  behind 
us?" 

Toye  chuckled  elfishly.  "Only  that  instant. 
What !  Did  you  really  comment  on  her  '  absolute 
lightness?'  I  can  hear  you!  Poor  darling!  It 
thinks  it's  unfathomable  and  yet  it  is  as  trans- 


Toye  Interrupts  197 

parent  as  a  sheet  of  glass!  Oh,  Cosmo,  Cosmo! 
In  the  throes  of  its  very  latest  grand  passion  and 
doesn't  want  to  be  laughed  at!  Never  mind,  my 
Cossie.  You're  absolutely  right  (quotation  is  the 
sincerest  form  of  flattery).  Absolutely  right  to  go 
in  for  the  lovely  widow.  She's  rolling  in  un- 
restricted money  and  has  a  wonderful  castle 
perched  on  a  cliff  near  the  sea.  Her  late  un- 
lamented  was  a  cousin  of  mother's,  and  the  delect- 
able Fenty,  who  for  our  sins  in  coming  to  Venice, 
is  her  guardian  angel,  so  you  can  believe  what  I 
tell  you." 

Cosmo  curbed  his  annoyance  with  an  effort. 

"  If  she's  a  sort  of  relation  of  yours  how  is  it  that 
I've  never  met  her  before?" 

"  Mother  quarrelled  with  her  husband.  Turned 
rusty  at  discovering  some  little  liaison  or  other  of 
his.  Rather  dog-in-the-mangery  of  her,  when  she 
didn't  want  him  for  herself,  but  you  know  how 
narrow-minded  she  is!  I  never  discovered  the 
details — too  young  to  know  these  things!"  She 
grimaced.  "Well,  to  make  a  rigmarole  telegraphic, 
the  poor  wretch  was  smashed  up  in  a  carriage 
accident  on  his  wedding-day,  and  your  Golden 
Opportunity  was  immured  in  the  old  castle  until 
he  died.  Et  voild,!"  She  shrugged  her  shoulders 
expressively. 


198  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Toye,  why  do  you  try  to  vulgarise  every- 
thing?" 

"Because  I'm  such  a  perfect  little  lady,"  she 
laughed.  "I'm  a  little  lady  to  my  finger-tips, 
aren't  I,  Cosmo?" 

"Sometimes  I  think  you  are  a  perfect  little 
devil, "  he  said. 

"If  I  were  a  cat  I'd  purr.  That's  the  prettiest 
thing  you've  ever  said  to  me!" 

' '  Are  you  serious  ? ' ' 

"How  could  I  be?"  she  countered,  with  another 
of  her  swift  side-long  glances.  "Haven't  I  been 
handicapped  from  birth,  or  rather  baptism?  Toye 
Tempest — Storm  in  a  Teacup.  Who  could  be 
serious  with  a  name  like  that?" 

"Roseleaf  Tragedy,"  he  capped. 

She  gave  an  impish  chuckle. 

"Dear,  dearest,  darling  Cosmo,  how  like  you! 
Don't  waste  it  on  me,  my  Cossie,  I  beg  of  thee! 
Keep  thy  poesies  for  the  G.  O.  She  will  appreciate 
them." 

"I  wonder  that  the  Holy  Water  didn't  frizzle 
on  your  forehead  when  they  baptised  you,"  said 
Cosmo,  with  sudden  temper. 

She  pinched  his  arm. 

"Are  you  ever  cross  with  anyone  but  me?" 

"No.     I've  an  admirable  temper." 


Toye  Interrupts  199 

"Do  you  ever  say  things  like  that  to  other 
people?" 

"Emphatically  no!" 

"Not  even  to  the  G.  O.?" 

"I  wish  you  would  not  call  her  that."  He 
tapped  his  stick  impatiently  on  the  pavement. 

"What  shall  I  call  her  then?  The  Sleeping 
Beauty?  The  Lord  knows  she  might  well  have 
been  asleep  for  a  hundred  years,  she's  so  un- 
sophisticated!" 

"That  suits  her  better,"  he  admitted.  "Yes, 
she  has  a  sort  of  half -awakened  look." 

"Are  you  going  to  make  it  your  business  to 
awaken  her  wholly?  You're  rather  good  at 
opening  people's  eyes,  you  know,  Cossie. " 

"Once  and  for  all  I  decline  to  allow  you  to  call 
me  by  that  odious  derivative." 

"Lord,  he's  hurling  words  of  ten  syllables  at  me! 
I'd  better  get  out  of  the  way  for  fear  I  should  be 
hit." 

"If  we  were  not  in  such  a  public  place  I'd  shake 
you.  It's  not  the  first  time  I've  longed  to. " 

"All  in  words  of  one  syllable,  praise  be!  I 
needn't  put  up  my  parasol !  Nor  will  it  be  the  last 
I  imagine,  my  dear  young  friend,"  she  continued 
calmly.  "Shall  I  be  serious  now,  and  give  you  a 
word  of  advice?" 


200  The  Torch  of  Life 

"The  change  would  be  so  remarkable  that  I 
feel  inclined  to  risk  it." 

She  played  with  the  green  tassel  of  her  parasol 
for  a  moment,  then  looked  up.  Gravity  peeped 
for  a  fleeting  instant  from  behind  the  mask  of 
mockery. 

"To  play  with  Simplicity  is  risky.  Simplicity 
doesn't  know  the  rules  of  the  game.  She  thinks 
that  counters  are  real  coins.  Perhaps  she  even 
thinks  that  the  game  isn't  a  game.  You  and  I 
know  better  than  that. " 

"For  whose  sake  are  you  giving  the  warning?" 

"Not  for  Simplicity's,  you  bet,"  cried  Toye. 
"Water  ices,  no  matter  how  beautifully  they  may 
be  coloured,  are  only  water  ices.  I  prefer  some- 
thing with  more  flavour. " 

"So  do  I,"  said  Cosmo. 

For  a  moment,  they  looked  at  each  other.  Toye 
realised,  as  she  turned  away  her  head,  that  in  her 
own  peculiar  fashion  she  had  discovered  exactly 
what  she  wanted  to  know  as  regarded  Cosmo's 
relations  with  Mrs.  Fleury. 

Her  mental  processes  were  more  curious  than 
logical,  but  she  rarely  failed  to  arrive  at  the 
desired  point. 


CHAPTER  X 

FENTON   IN   VENICE 

TN  the  morning  of  Fenton's  arrival,  Titian  rose 
*•  with  a  feeling  of  pleasant  expectance.  It  was 
good  to  think  that  she  would  see  him  so  soon; 
good  to  feel  that  she  could  share  her  new  pleasures 
with  her  old  friend. 

But  could  she?  She  paused  on  the  thought  to 
wonder  how  he  would  fit  in  with  his  surroundings. 
At  Camus  there  had  been  no  room  for  creeping 
questions.  His  coming  had  been  welcomed,  his 
varying  sojourns  at  Belfield  regarded  as  green  oases 
in  the  desert  of  her  days ;  but  here  in  Venice?  She 
drew  her  brows  together  as  she  looked  at  herself 
in  the  glass.  Would  Fenton  be  content  to  dream 
away  his  time  in  a  gondola?  Was  he  capable  of 
making  a  magic  hour  still  more  magical? 

She  flushed  hotly  as  she  turned  away  from  the 
mirror. 

"Who  taught  you  the  trick  of  comparison,  you 
ungrateful  creature?"  she  chid  herself.  "Wasn't 

201 


2O2  The  Torch  of  Life 

it  Fenty  who  gave  you  the  only  good  hours  of  your 
life?" 

Yes,  she  was  ready  to  admit  it.  All  her  me- 
mories of  Fenton  were  good  as  bread,  or  water,  or 
air — the  elemental  necessities  of  life — good,  but 
not  glamorous.  For  the  new  Titian  a  difference 
lay  between  the  two  that  entirely  lacked  propor- 
tion. Fenton  was  a  dear,  all  that  was  true  and 
dependable  but — there  was  a  certain  shagginess 
about  him.  That  was  how  she  phrased  it  to  her- 
self. She  had  never  seen  him  in  any  environment 
but  Camus.  Now  she  wondered  how  he  would 
adapt  himself  to  his  surroundings.  She  remem- 
bered a  comment  of  Miss  Em's. 

"Mr.  Mede  is  himself  always.  There's  nothing 
of  the  chameleon  about  him,  thank  God!" 

She  laughed  softly.  No,  there  was  nothing  of  the 
chameleon  about  Fenton.  Was  there  about 

Marshall,  entering,  told  her  that  Fenton  had 
come. 

"He  is  an  early  visitor, "  she  said,  going  back  to 
the  glass  for  a  final  glance. 

She  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  look  her  best  for  the 
friend  towards  whom  she  seemed  to  have  shown  a 
moment's  disloyalty.  Then  she  paused  for  an 
instant  at  the  door  with  an  absurd  accession  of 
shyness.  As  she  entered  the  sitting-room  with 


Fenton  in  Venice  203 

hands  held  out  in  greeting,  she  stopped  half  way 
in  surprise. 

"Fenton!     Is  it  really  you?"  she  cried. 

He  came  towards  her  and  took  bothliands  in  his, 
smiling  down  into  her  lovely  astonished  face. 

"My  very  self,"  he  answered.  "Am  I  so 
changed?" 

"Changed?  I  should  think  so.  You're  a  new 
Fenty.  I'll  have  to  get  to  know  you  all  over  again." 

She  spoke  truly.  Here  was  a  new  Fenton 
indeed.  A  clean-shaven  Fenton,  whose  strong 
beautiful  mouth  was  a  visible  revelation  of  what 
he  had  been  to  her  in  her  dark  hours.  A  Fenton 
whose  tailor  was  as  admirable  as  Cosmo's  own ;  a 
slighter,  younger  Fenton,  who  held  his  big  frame 
with  a  new  erectness,  but  who  looked  at  her  with 
the  same  whimsical  blue  eyes  which  seemed  to  be 
all  that  remained  of  the  outward  semblance  of  the 
Fenton  whom  she  had  known. 

"I  didn't  want  you  to  look  on  me  as  an  uncle 
any  longer." 

His  smile  touched  her. 

"Oh,  Fenty,  I  didn't.     I  don't." 

"Don't  you?  Then  that's  all  right.  Am  I  less 
like  Nebuchadnezzar  now?" 

"I  never  said  that  you  were  like  Nebuchad- 
nezzar!" 


204  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Didn't  you?  You  thought  it,  though."  In 
his  shy  way,  he  was  eager  to  hear  the  word  of 
approval  for  which  he  would  not  ask. 

"Of  course  not."  She  gave  his  arm  a  little 
squeeze.  "The  change  is  a  trifle  embarrassing, 
though.  I  must  get  used  to  it. " 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  There  was  no  use  in  beating 
about  the  bush  any  longer. 

"Yes,  very  much.  It  makes  you  look  years 
younger." 

"Does  it?"  He  felt  absurdly  pleased.  "Nearer 
your  own  age?" 

She  nodded  gaily. 

"I  thought  I  might  have  caught  you  up,  but  I 
haven't.  You've  run  away  from  me  again.  You're 
looking " 

"What,  Fenty?" 

"Very  well,"  he  ended  tamely. 

"What  a  dull  remark!" 

"Very  beautiful,  then,  you  spoilt  child, "  he  said. 
"  I'm  glad  to  see  those  bits  of  white  about  you. " 

He  indicated  the  collar  and  cuffs  of  Venetian 
lace  which  she  wore.  There  was  no  searchlight  of 
criticism  in  his  eyes.  He  looked  at  her  as  a  man 
who  has  been  prisoned  in  a  cellar  may  look  at  the 
newly  risen  sun. 

"I  braved  Marshall's  disapproval  once  for  all. 


Fenton  in  Venice  205 

I  am  emancipated,  Fenty.  It's  such  fun  to  be 
independent,  to  do  what  one  likes,  to  wear  what 
one  likes."  She  gave  a  happy  little  laugh. 

Fun!  Fenton  had  not  heard  her  say  that  any- 
thing was  "  such  fun  "  since  the  day  when  they  had 
crept  on  tiptoe  to  the  blue-tit's  nest.  She  had  had 
but  little  fun  in  her  life,  poor  child. 

"That's  right,"  he  answered  with  a  twinkle. 
"But  you  mustn't  emancipate  yourself  too  far. 
Remember  that  I'm  partly  responsible  for  you. " 

"  I  see  business  trembling  on  your  lips  with  that 
awful  word  "responsible."  I  really  couldn't  bear 
it  this  morning.  We'll  strike  a  bargain.  We'll  go 
out  in  the  gondola  now,  and  you  shall  come  back 
here  to  lunch  with  me.  When  we  are  fortified 
you  may  talk  business  if  you  like,  but  you  must 
give  me  the  morning  first. " 

"I'd  give  you  more  than  that." 

"Very  well.  Just  wait  until  I  put  on  my 
hat." 

She  ran  into  her  room.  He  marked  the  new 
lightness  in  her  tread  and  his  heart  rejoiced. 
These  wandering  months  were  doing  all  that  he 
had  hoped  for  her,  restoring  her  poise,  renewing  her 
youth,  fulfilling  her  beauty. 

He  sighed  involuntarily  when  he  thought  of  the 
warm  welcome  of  her  smile. 


206  The  Torch  of  Life 

In  a  moment,  she  returned,  and  swept  him  from 
the  room  on  a  wave  of  joyous  excitement. 

"Just  imagine,  I  have  my  own  gondola.  Doesn't 
that  sound  delicious?  But  I  told  you  in  my  letter, 
didn't  I?" 

"You  haven't  written  to  me  since  you  came  to 
Venice.  You  sent  me  a  picture-postcard  from 
Florence  giving  your  address  here,  but  that  was 
all." 

"How  remiss  of  me!  But  I  really  haven't  had 
time;  you  arrived  nearly  as  soon  as  your  letter. 
You  are  much  nicer  than  your  letters,  Fenty. " 

"Ami?  I'm  glad  you  think  so.  I'm  not  much 
use  with  the  pen." 

A  train  of  thought  led  her  to  point  out  the 
Brownings'  palazzo  as  they  passed  beneath  it. 

"Have  you  read  their  letters,  Fenty?" 

"The  love-letters,  you  mean?" 

"Yes." 

"No.    Would  you?" 

"  I— don't  know.     Why  not  ?  " 

"I'm  very  old-fashioned,  I  suppose,  but  it  seems 
to  me  to  be  nothing  short  of  sacrilege  to  read  an- 
other person's  love-letters.  If  anything  in  the 
world  is  purely  personal  and  private  surely  it  is  the 
love-letters  of  a  man  and  woman  to  each  other.  I 
should  feel  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  read  them. " 


Fenton  in  Venice  207 

Titian  looked  at  him  quickly.  It  was  only 
yesterday  that  Cosmo  Trevor  had  expatiated  on 
the  beauty  and  fervour  of  the  "  Letters. "  He  had 
asked  if  he  might  send  them  to  her  when  he  had 
had  them  fittingly  bound.  Here  were  two  very- 
different  points  of  view, — as  widely  different  as 
the  men  themselves. 

"But,  Fenty,"  she  demurred,  "those  two  were 
not  merely  man  and  woman.  They  were  poets. 
They  belonged  to  the  nation. " 

"They  were  man  and  woman  before  they  were 
poets.  Their  poems  may  have  belonged  to  the 
nation,  but  surely  their  love-letters  belonged  to 
themselves.  I'm  sorry  you  don't  understand  my 
point  of  view. " 

"You  told  me  once  before  that  I  didn't  under- 
stand, "  she  said  slowly.  "  Do  you  remember?  It 
was  long  ago.  That  day  about  the  kitten." 

' '  Yes.     I  remember. ' ' 

"I  understand  you  better  this  time,"  she  went 
on.  Then  she  added  in  a  low  voice.  "  You  know, 
Fenty,  I  never  had  any  love-letters  of  my  own. 
Perhaps  if  I  had  I  should  really  understand. " 

"Perhaps  you  would, "  Fenton  rejoined,  averting 
his  eyes  from  the  wistfulness  of  her  face.  Then  he 
said  in  a  deliberately  matter-of-fact  tone:  "Do 
you  remember  those  cottages  on  the  brow  of  the 


208  The  Torch  of  Life 

hill,  near  the  Winthrops'  house?  Poor  Agatha 
died  there  of  consumption,  you  remember." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  in  her  turn. 

"I  want  to  ask  your  consent  to  have  them  pulled 
down  and  rebuilt.  They  are  thoroughly  unsani- 
tary and  there  is  no  proper  sewerage. " 

"Fenton!"  she  cried,  turning  indignantly  upon 
him.  "I  asked  for  this  morning.  I  bring  you  to 
the  loveliest  spot  in  Venice  and  you  actually  dare 
to  talk  of  sewerage!" 

Humour  deserted  her  for  the  moment.  She 
thought  of  the  golden  evening  hour  on  the  lagoon, 
the  magic  spell,  the  comprehending  silence  of 
her  companion,  and  memory  sharply  pointed  a 
contrast. 

Fenton  laughed,  unaware  of  any  comparison. 
For  the  first  time,  he  felt  a  sympathy  with  what  he 
used  to  consider  Arnot's  unnatural  delight  in  see- 
ing Titian  flushed  in  anger.  She  certainly  looked 
lovely  with  her  parted  lips  and  sparkling  eyes. 
Too  lovely,  he  thought,  for  the  peace  of  mind  of 
ordinary  men. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  quite  forgot.  I  won't 
err  again." 

"I  can't  depend  upon  you." 

"Not  if  I  promise." 

"I  won't  ask  you  to  promise." 


Fenton  in  Venice  209 

"Won't  you?  You  needn't.  Do  forgive  me. 
Have  I  broken  the  spell?" 

"There  was  no  spell, "  she  answered,  closing  her 
lips  firmly. 

"Wasn't  there?  I  thought  there  was,"  he 
returned,  with  becoming  humility. 

She  relented.  The  dimple  near  her  mouth 
sprang  from  its  lurking-place  as  she  laughed, 
half -reluctantly. 

"There's  no  use  in  being  angry  with  you,  Fenty." 

"Not  a  bit." 

"I  must  be  friends  with  you." 

"That,  at  least." 

"Why  are  you  so  prosaic?" 

"Am  I?"  he  asked,  still  looking  at  her.  "Who 
has  been  pointing  out  my  defects,  Titian?" 

She  gave  a  little  start.     "  Oh,  no  one.     No  one. " 

"Surely  not  Mollie?" 

"Fenty,  don't  be  ridiculous." 

"Has  Toye  held  her  magnifying  glass  over  my 
many  flaws?" 

Titian  smiled.  "How  did  you  succeed  in  in- 
spiring her  with  awe?  She  says  that  no  one 
would  dare  to  say  the  things  that  you  look. " 

"Poor  little  Toye.  She's  a  queer  restless  un- 
satisfied child.  We  are  really  fonder  of  each  other 
than  we  pretend  to  be." 

14 


210  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Do  you  think  she  is  capable  of  being  fond  of 
anyone?" 

Fenton  turned  quickly.     "You  don't  like  her?" 

"I  don't  understand  her,"  answered  Titian 
slowly.  "She  is  an  uncomfortable  sort  of  girl, 
I  think.  I  always  feel  as  if  she  were  trying  to  score 
off  me. " 

"Toye  score  off  you?"  he  repeated,  with  a  com- 
forting disbelief.  "Absurd!  She  has  too  much 
sense  to  attempt  any  such  thing.  You  mustn't 
grow  fanciful." 

His  bluntness  gave  her  a  warm  sense  of  well-be- 
ing. She  smiled  at  him. 

"You're  rather  a  nice  person  after  all,"  she 
said  softly. 

"I  have  my  uses,  I  suppose,  in  spite  of  being  so 
prosaic.  How  do  you  like  Mollie?" 

"Oh,  she's  a  dear.  She  is  the  image  of  you, 
Fenty.  That  drew  me  to  her  at  once. " 

"  Did  it?  Did  it  really?  "  He  bared  his  head  to 
the  sunshine,  and,  as  the  strong  light  fell  upon  his 
face,  Titian  noticed  that  it  looked  a  little  worn. 
His  eyes  were  tired,  and  there  were  lines  about  the 
sensitive  mouth  that  was  so  new  to  her. 

"Did  you  come  straight  through  last  night? 
Had  you  any  sleep?" 

"Plenty.    Why?" 


Fenton  in  Venice  211 

"You  look  tired." 

"I've  been  having  a  rather  worrying  time 
lately." 

"  Poor  Fenty.     Not  over  my  affairs  I  hope. " 

"No,  my  own." 

"Oh."  The  soft  monosyllable  held  neither 
query  nor  comment. 

Fenton  looked  at  her.  This  was  not  the  time  or 
place  for  the  crudities  of  the  only  confidences  he 
could  give  her,  yet  he  made  a  tentative  venture. 

"Some  day,  if  you  will  let  me,  I  should  like  to 
tell  you, "  he  began  and  then  stopped. 

"I  shall  always  be  glad  to  hear  anything  that 
you  care  to  tell  me." 

He  turned  away  abruptly.  There  was  no  more 
than  a  friendly  interest  in  her  tone.  She  would 
listen  graciously;  she  would  give  her  sympathy 
perhaps,  but  she  did  not  really  want  to  hear.  She 
was  deaf  to  the  undertone  of  need  which  had  rung 
through  his  broken-off  sentence.  The  thought 
stung. 

They  had  left  Venice  behind — a  magic  blur  of 
domes,  roofs,  and  campanili.  The  lagoon  was  still 
and  hyaline,  palest  blue  with  amethyst  shadows. 
On  the  horizon,  a  range  of  hills,  capped  with  snow 
and  faintly  flushed,  lifted  a  fairy  outline  towards  an 
ethereal  sky.  Nearer  lay  the  dim  hyacinth  streaks 


212  The  Torch  of  Life 

of   islands;  nearer    still    the    slow-moving   black 
silhouettes  of  gondolas. 

It  was  as  if  the  world  lay  under  the  thrall  of  an 
opal-tinted  dream,  so  hushed  was  the  air,  so 
delicate  the  colours. 

"Yet  you  deny  that  there  was  a  spell,"  said 
Fenton  slowly.  She  looked  curiously  at  him  as  he 
leaned  forward,  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  chin  on 
hand,  gazing  towards  the  mountains.  His  eyes 
were  opened  wider  than  she  had  ever  seen  them; 
they  held  a  look  which  she  could  not  read. 

With  one  of  her  quick  impulses,  she  turned  to 
him. 

"There  was  a  spell,  of  course,  Fenty.  I'm  sorry 
I  was  so  cross. " 

He  looked  at  her  in  mute  appeal  for  a  moment. 
Speech  that  he  longed  to  utter  was  forbidden,  and 
he  was  no  maker  of  jewelled  phrases.  Then  he 
held  out  his  hand.  She  put  hers  into  it  with  a  little 
sigh.  "  It's  '  pax  and  chums,'  isn't  it?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "I  should  be  poor  in- 
deed if  I  were  to  quarrel  with  you,  Fenty. " 

"And  I,  if  Camus  doors  were  to  be  closed  against 
me." 

"That  could  never  be." 

"I  hope  not,"  he  said  gravely.  "Camus  has 
meant  the  only  home  I've  known  for  years. " 


Fenton  in  Venice  213 

"Oh,  poor  Fenty,  what  a  wretched  substitute  for 
the  real  thing! "  she  cried  out  in  swift  pity. 

"No,  it  wasn't,"  he  said,  and  again,  very  low, 
"oh,  no,  it  wasn't." 

She  felt  touched,  troubled,  and  proud  all  at 
once. 

"  But  I  did  nothing  for  you, "  she  protested  in  a 
voice  that  trembled  slightly.  "It  was  you " 

"You  did  everything,"  he  returned  in  the  same 
curbed  tone.  "You  kept  a  light  burning." 


CHAPTER  XI 
TOYE'S  HINT 

WHEN  Fenton's  business  interview  was  over, 
he  went  back  to  the  Palazzo  Marin,  a 
tangle  of  thoughts  in  his  brain. 

From  various  remarks,  uttered  unconsciously 
by  Titian,  deliberately  by  Miss  Gerard,  he  gleaned 
a  fair  idea  of  the  looming  importance  of  Cosmo 
Trevor  as  a  factor  in  their  Venetian  life.  He  heard 
casual  mention  of  tea  at  the  Cafe  Florian,  trips 
to  Murano  and  the  Lido,  and  various  shopping 
expeditions  taken  in  his  company,  but  he  made 
no  comment. 

As  was  his  wont  since  boyhood's  days,  he  went 
in  search  of  his  sister  Mollie  to  disburden  himself 
of  his  misgivings. 

He  found  her  knitting  in  a  deck  chair  on  one  of 
the  balconies  which  jutted  from  the  sola. 

"Where's  the  family?  "  he  asked,  leaning  against 
the  parapet  and  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  his  pipe. 

"Hugh  is  resting.  I'm  afraid  he  walked  too  far 
214 


Toye's  Hint  215 

this  morning,"  Lady  Tempest  said,  a  little  anx- 
iously. "Toye  is  off  somewhere  with  Cosmo 
Trevor.  She  is  a  restless  little  being  and  can 
never  content  herself  indoors." 

"How  did  you  and  Hugh  come  to  have  such  a 
daughter?"  said  Fenton,  filling  his  pipe. 

"If  one  believed  in  the  changeling  theory,  Toye 
might  be  quoted  as  a  living  proof!  But  don't  let's 
talk  of  Toye.  I  want  to  hear  about  you.  You 
never  tell  anything  in  your  letters,  and  I  want  to 
hear  all  about  you,  dear  old  boy. " 

He  smiled  down  at  her  before  he  answered. 
"What  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you?" 

"Well,  first  of  all  how  you  found  your  ward. 
She  is  a  sort  of  ward,  isn't  she?" 

"Titian?"  He  lit  his  pipe.  "Oh,  yes.  A 
responsibility  at  any  rate. "  He  smoked  in  silence 
for  a  little,  enjoying  the  soothing  influences  of  the 
moment.  "She's  looking  very  well.  She's — sort 
of  blossomed,  somehow.  What  do  you  think  of 
her,  Mollie?" 

"I  think  she's  lovely, "  returned  Lady  Tempest, 
warmly.  "She  has  a  most  interesting  personality, 
so  naive  in  some  ways,  so  mature  in  others.  She 
is  like  a  child  in  her  enjoyment  of  things.  Yet 
sometimes  in  the  midst  of  her  enthusiasms  a  little 
veil  of  sadness  suddenly  comes  over  her,  as  if  she 


2i 6  The  Torch  of  Life 

were  stopped,  pulled  back  by  something,  which  she 
had  tried  to  forget  and  couldn't.  I  can't  explain 
properly,  but  you  understand,  Fenty,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  is  it,  I  wonder?" 

"Arnot  kept  a  very  tight  hold  of  her.  He 
deliberately  checked  her  development.  He  cared 
only  for  her  looks. " 

Lady  Tempest's  thoughts  flew  backwards  to 
Titian's  little  plea  to  be  liked  for  herself. 

"Ah,  that  accounts  for  it." 

"For  what?" 

"For  something  she  said  to  me  one  day  when  I 
commented  on  her  beauty. " 

"What  was  it?" 

"She  begged  me  not  to  like  her  for  that.  She 
said  it  mattered  so  little.  Could  I  not  find  any- 
thing else  to  like  in  her?  It  was  rather  pathetic, 
I  thought,  in  one  on  whom  Nature  had  showered 
so  much.  She  is  as  lovable  as  she  is  lovely. 
Don't  you  agree  with  me,  Fenty?" 

Fenton  did  not  answer.  Lady  Tempest  re- 
peated the  question. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  curtly. 

He  did  not  look  at  her.  His  profile  was  towards 
her  as  he  leant  over  the  balcony  gazing  at  the 
freighted  gondolas  which  passed  beneath. 


Toye's  Hint  217 

Something  in  his  tone  roused  her,  dry  as  the 
monosyllable  had  been.  Dropping  her  work  in  her 
lap  she  bent  across  it. 

"Fenty,  do  you  care  for  her?"  she  asked,  with  a 
sudden  flash  of  intuition. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  again,  in  the  same  curbed 
voice. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Don't  mind.  It  doesn't  matter.  It  can't 
be  helped." 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  she  cried  again  softly.  "Does 
she  know?" 

"Of  course  not.     How  could  she?" 

"Women  have  intuitions." 

"  She's  not  a  real  woman — yet. " 

Silence  fell  again.     Then  Lady  Tempest  spoke. 

"When  did  it  begin,  Fenty?" 

Fenton  pulled  at  his  pipe  and  looked  hard  at  the 
red-brown  roofs  opposite. 

"Oh,  you  women,  with  your  greed  for  detail! 
What  does  it  matter?" 

"Don't  tell  me  if  you'd  rather  not." 

"I've  always  told  you  things,  Mollie.  There's 
no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  now,  if  you  want  to 
know."  He  drew  a  long  breath.  "I  cared  for 
her  the  first  moment  I  saw  her  in  the  Nursing 
Home  in  London.  Poor  little  lonely,  bewildered 


218  The  Torch  of  Life 

soul!  I  didn't  realise  that  she  was — the  one 
woman  until — she  cried  on  my  shoulder  the  day 
Arnot  died.  Then  I  knew." 

"Fenty,  my  dear,  the  world  is  a  hard  place  to 
live  in."  She  wiped  her  eyes  unobtrusively. 

"It's  the  only  place  we've  got  at  present,  so  we 
must  make  the  best  of  it."  He  shook  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe  and  refilled  it.  In  spite  of  his 
philosophy,  his  hand  trembled  slightly.  "There's 
no  good  in  being  tragic,  Moll. " 

"But  it  is  tragic,"  she  persisted.  "It's  cruel 
to  think  that  your  whole  life  has  been  spoiled  on 
account  of  the  wicked  advantage  that  was  taken 
of  a  boyish  infatuation." 

"It  hasn't  been  spoiled,"  he  returned  gravely. 
"It's  only  we  ourselves  who  can  spoil  our  lives. 
I've  had  as  good  a  life  as  most  men.  As  any  man 
could  have,  lacking  the  best." 

"You  take  things  philosophically." 

"Don't  make  it  harder  for  me,  Mollie.  Don't 
make  me  sorry  I  told  you. " 

"You  didn't  tell  me.     I  found  out. " 

"Well,  don't  make  me  sorry  that  you  found  out, 
then." 

"I  won't."  She  looked  up  at  the  stooping 
figure.  She  longed  to  put  her  arms  round  him,  but 
she  knew  how  Fenton  hated  demonstration. 


Toye's  Hint  219 

For  a  long  time,  he  smoked  in  silence.  She  took 
up  her  knitting  again,  and  dropped  stitch  after 
stitch. 

At  last  she  spoke. 

"Fenton,  have  you  seen  Adela  lately?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  looking  at  her  for  the  first 
time.  "I  wanted  to  tell  you.  I  have  seen  her 
twice.  She  is  dying. " 

"Dying!"  A  light  gradually  dawned  through 
the  surprise  in  Lady  Tempest's  face. 

"Dr.  Brookwood  says  that  she  may  linger  for 
months,  but  perhaps  only  for  weeks, "  Fenton  went 
on  with  unusual  haste.  "She  asked  to  see  me,  so 
I  went. " 

He  stopped.  His  face  paled  a  little.  He  laid 
his  pipe  down  on  the  parapet. 

"Well?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"It  was  just  as  usual.  The  moment  she  saw  me 
she  flew  into  a  frenzy  and  rushed  at  me.  It  was 

the  same  next  time,  only Well,  she  had  a 

knife  the  second  time.  An  old  rusty  blade.  They 
didn't  know  where  she  had  found  it. " 

Lady  Tempest  shuddered.    "  Did  she  hurt  you?" 

"No." 

"What  an  escape !  Oh,  Fenty,  it  must  have  been 
awful!" 

"  It  was  rather. " 


22o  The  Torch  of  Life 

"And  the  law  gives  no  redress?" 

"None." 

She  pondered  for  a  moment,  ripping  the  wool 
where  the  stitches  had  been  dropped.  Then  she 
cleared  her  throat  and  began  tentatively: 

"But,  Fenty,  if " 

He  turned  sharply  on  her.  "Hush,  Mollie. 
There  are  things  which  mustn't  be  said. " 

"I  want  to  say  them. " 

"That's  no  reason  why  you  should." 

"It's  a  very  good  reason." 

"Have  you  no  sense  of  honour?" 

"A  very  keen  one,  but " 

"Stop!" 

"I  must  say  one  thing,"  she  persisted  desper- 
ately. "If  you  are  silent  too  long,  it  may  be  too 
late  when  you  speak. " 

"I  know.     I  saw  that  to-day." 

She  looked  incredulous.  "To-day?  Oh,  you 
mean  Cosmo  Trevor." 

"Yes." 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  have  any  fear  of  Cosmo. 
He's  a  philanderer. " 

"He  won't  philander  always." 

"  Besides  she's  much  older  than  he  is. " 

"Only  five  years.  And  she's  at  least  ten  years 
younger  than  her  real  age  in  many  ways. " 


Toye's  Hint  221 

This  was  a  new  point  of  view  for  Lady  Tempest. 
She  considered  it  before  she  spoke  again. 

"Of  course,  she  is  very  lovely  and  very  rich," 
she  said  at  last,  musingly. 

"I  never  thought  of  that  as  a  possible  factor," 
returned  Fenton,  simply. 

"I'm  sure  you  didn't,  but  other  men  would." 

"Cosmo  Trevor  is  not  the  man  for  her. " 

"You  are,  Fenty,"  she  asserted  with  hopeful 
conviction. 

"Don't,"  he  said,  turning  abruptly. 

As  he  moved,  his  elbow  touched  his  pipe  and 
knocked  it  outwards.  It  slid  over  the  parapet; 
he  watched  it  fall  with  a  dull  splash  into  the 
canal. 

"Another  old  friend  gone,"  he  said,  straighten- 
ing himself.  "I  loved  that  old  pipe." 

"Oh,  what  do  such  things  as  pipes  matter?" 
she  cried. 

Fenton  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
wheeled  round  to  face  her.  His  back  was  to  the 
light  but  she  divined  rather  than  saw  the  look  of 
pain  in  his  eyes. 

"You  needn't  rub  it  in,  Moll." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  rub  it  in. " 

"Rub  it  out,  then,  and  never  refer  to  it  again." 
His  tone  rang  sharply.  Its  decision  left  no  appeal. 


222  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Very  well,"  she  returned  quietly.  Her  heart 
ached  for  him. 

"Are  you  starting  with  the  politician's  clean 
slate,  Fenty?"  asked  Toye's  clear  voice  behind 
them. 

She  stepped  out  on  the  balcony  and  regarded  the 
two  with  her  usual  air  of  detached  amusement. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  read  in  the  outline 
which  Fenton  presented,  but  the  light  which  fell 
on  her  mother's  face  revealed  cheeks  unwontedly 
flushed  and  more  than  a  suspicion  of  tears  on  her 
lashes. 

"You  look  like  a  pair  of  conspirators, "  Toye 
declared.  "Mother  has  an  especially  guilty  air. 
Has  she  been  confiding  her  'orrible  past  to 
you,  Fenty?  If  so,  you've  borne  it  wonderfully 
well!" 

"Perhaps  it's  yours  she  has  been  confiding  to 
me,"  returned  Fenton  slowly.  "If  the  light  were 
better,  you  would  see  that  my  hair  has  become 
thickly  streaked  with  grey." 

1 '  She  doesn't  know  it, "  retorted  Toye.  "  To  be 
a  successful  daughter,  one's  past  should  be  wrapped 
in  oblivion,  one's  present  a  sealed  book,  and  one's 
future  a  glorious  possibility  to  one's  parents. 
Mother  is  only  happy  when  she  contemplates  my 
future,  aren't  you,  Mummy?  That  not  impossible 


Tbye's  Hint  223 

day  when  I  shall  settle  down  in  a  home  of  my 
own" — her  voice  put  mocking  quotation  marks 
round  her  descriptions — "after  a  pretty  wedding 
in  the  ivy-covered  church  where  the  sniffing 
village  children  will  strew  my  path  with  flowers, 
while  my  eight  bridesmaids  will  whisper  behind  my 
back,  '  What  an  ugly  little  devil  she  is !  How  on 
earth  did  she  manage  to  catch  him?'  Isn't  that 
your  ideal  for  me,  mother?" 

Lady  Tempest  forced  a  smile.  "I  suppose  it  is 
wholesome  to  see  oneself  through  another  person's 
eyes  sometimes,  but  I  confess  that  I  rarely  recog- 
nise myself  in  your  quotations,  Toye. " 

"  Don't  I  hold  the  mirror  close  enough  to  Nature, 
then?  Haven't  I  often  heard  you  say  that  you 
wished  I  was  well  married?" 

"You  have  heard  me  say  that  I  thought  you 
would  be  happier  if  you  were  married  to  the  right 
sort  of  man,  but " 

"Dear  thing,  you  are  old-fashioned!  Well, 
I'm  afraid  I  can't  please  you.  I  want  to  enjoy  life. 
I  prefer  to  amuse  myself  rather  than  risk  the 
problematical  charms  of  matrimony." 

"Can't  you  do  both?"  asked  Fenton. 

"Fenty  among  the  moderns!  What  an  up-to- 
date  remark  for  you,  dear!"  she  cried  impudently. 
' '  Amusement  and  matrimony !  Did  you  shed  your 


224  The  Torch  of  Life 

crinoline  with  your  beard?  By  the  way,  mother, 
talking  of  amusement,  I  asked  Cosmo  to  come  to 
dinner  to-morrow  night." 

"Did  you?  But  Mrs.  Fleury  and  Miss  Gerard 
are  coming." 

' '  What  does  that  matter?  It  will  only  mean  one 
odd  woman  instead  of  two.  Family  parties  are 
so  dreadfully  dull. " 

"  I  shouldn't  call  this  exactly  a  family  party. " 

"Near  enough  to  want  some  leavening." 

"Is  it  for  Mrs.  Fleury 's  sake  that  you  have 
invited  the — leaven?"  asked  Fenton,  drily. 

"Certainly  not.  For  my  own,"  she  retorted, 
wrinkling  up  her  nose  at  him.  "Do  you  know 
what  I've  christened  your  married  ingenue, 
Fenty?" 

"No." 

"The  Sleeping  Beauty.  Don't  you  think  it 
suits  her?" 

"Admirably." 

Lady  Tempest  moved  uneasily.  Fenton  saw 
thexnovement  with  some  irritation.  He  already 
half-regretted  his  forced  confidence.  He  knew 
that  now  Mollie  would  be  always  studying  him 
tenderly,  suffering  vicariously  for  him,  reading 
between  the  lines  of  the  simplest  incident,  and 
the  knowledge  irked  him.  He  did  not  want  her 


Toye's  Hint  225 

to  be  tactful.  There  are  some  bruises  which  the 
blows  of  ignorance  hurt  less  than  the  salve  of 
knowledge. 

"Those  old  fairy-tales  are  always  profoundly 
moral,"  continued  Toye,  with  a  glance  at  Fenton 
as  bright  and  quick  as  a  lizard's. 

"What  is  the  moral  of  this  one? "  he  asked. 

"That  though  many  princes  tried  to  get  into 
the  Enchanted  Garden  only  the  True  Prince 
succeeded." 

"There's  not  much  moral  in  that,"  returned 
Fenton. 

"Perhaps  the  real  moral  lies  in  the  kiss,"  Toye 
flashed  back  airily.  "People  who  know,  my  dear 
Fenty,  have  told  me  that  there  is  a  great  power 
of  awakening  in  a  man's  kiss!" 

"Indeed!" 

"They  even  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  may  be 
looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  test. " 

"Of  what,  may  I  ask?" 

"Of  the  difference  between  the  False  Prince 
and  the  True!" 

With  a  swift  pirouette  she  turned  and  disap- 
peared leaving  Fenton  to  wonder  uncomfortably 
how  long  she  had  been  in  the  sala,  and  how  much 
she  had  overheard. 

Though  he  tried  to  dismiss  the  suspicion  as  being 

IS 


226  The  Torch  of  Life 

unworthy,  it  came  back  again  and  again,  and  he 
could  not  help  feeling  that  her  apparently  careless 
words  had  been  intended  either  as  a  hint  or  a 
warning. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  DINNER   PARTY 

1  N  spite  of  his  hidden  pain,  Fenton  Mede  spent 
*  hours  of  enjoyment  in  Titian's  company. 
Though  honour  sealed  his  lips,  there  was  a  sweet 
pain,  a  poignant  pleasure,  to  be  found  in  her 
nearness.  He  hoarded  his  moments  in  Venice  as  a 
squirrel  hoards  his  summer  store  of  what  will  mean 
life  to  him  in  winter  days. 

Together  he  and  she  and  Miss  Gerard  journeyed 
to  the  Islands,  past  the  pine-crowned  cemetery  to 
Murano  and  Burano,  with  their  vivid  huddle  of 
gaily-coloured  houses,  to  see  the  revival  of  the 
ancient  arts  of  making  lace  and  blowing  glass. 

The  glow  of  the  furnaces  at  Murano,  the  dark 
corners,  the  swarthy  half-naked  workers,  made  a 
Rembrandtesque  contrast  to  the  airy  rooms  of 
Burano,  where  happy  women,  twittering  gaily  as 
birds,  wove  fairy  cobwebs  of  lace  with  dainty 
fingers. 

Over  the  railings  by  the  canals,  brown  nets  hung. 
227 


228  The  Torch  of  Life 

In  the  doorways  of  the  brightly-painted  houses, — 
pink,  yellow,  blue,  ochre, — sat  dark-eyed  women 
working  at  their  snowy  pillows.  Curly-headed 
children  ran  and  tumbled  about  the  cobbled  streets. 
A  small  boat  was  moored  to  a  ring  near  the  stone 
steps  at  which  their  gondola  lay.  A  light  breeze 
flapped  its  triangular  sail  of  orange,  barred  with 
scarlet.  For  a  moment,  the  tarry  smell  of  the 
nets  seemed  to  catch  Titian  in  the  web  of  the  past. 
Fenton's  slow  voice  heightened  the  illusion. 

She  shook  off  the  impression  with  impatience. 
She  did  not  want  to  go  back;  she  wanted  to  go 
forward;  to  follow  rainbow  Youth — Will  o*  the 
Wisp  with  roseate  wings.  For  the  moment,  it 
seemed  as  if  Fenton  had  touched  and  shattered 
her  bubble.  She  had  had  no  magic  hours  since 
his  coming,  save  that  morning  moment  when  his 
lonely  soul  had  tried  to  reach  hers.  No  one  had 
sung  of  the  "heaven's  embroidered  cloths"  be- 
neath her  window;  no  one  but  Fenton  himself 
had  pressed  her  hand  and  pleaded  mutely  for  a 
little  kindness. 

She  looked  forward  with  intense  eagerness  to  the 
dinner-party  at  Palazzo  Marin.  Fenton  had  told 
her  that  Cosmo  Trevor  would  be  there. 

Her  first  dinner-party !  And  he  was  to  be  there 
— the  new  friend  who  understood  her  so  well, 


The  Dinner  Party  229 

whose  touch,  whose  look  brought  back  to  her  the 
absurd  delicious  thrills  of  youth. 

Then  Memory  flashed  two  pictures  from 
her  mirror  straight  into  Titian's  dream-dazzled 
eyes. 

One  was  of  Fenton  struggling  with  speech,  con- 
quering an  almost  irresistible  reticence  in  order 
to  lay  bare  his  inmost  thoughts  to  give  her  comfort. 
The  other  was  his  attitude  of  reverence  when  she 
had  bowed  her  head  to  the  dust  before  him  after 
Arnot's  will  had  been  read.  Could  any  man, 
Cosmo  Trevor  or  another,  have  understood  her 
better  than  he  did  in  those  two  bitter  hours? 

Swift  shame  flooded  her  cheeks,  and  she  talked 
to  Fenton  gently  and  with  all  her  old  warmth  on  the 
journey  back  to  Venice. 

They  spoke  of  little  things,  small  happenings, 
mutual  memories — the  innumerable  tiny  threads 
that  bind  the  big  moments  of  life  together. 

Fenton  felt  almost  happy  when  he  left  them  at 
the  Hotel  Bianca  with  a  smiling  rejoinder  not  to 
forget  the  dinner  party  at  Palazzo  Marin. 

He  was  ready  early  and  found  no  one  in  the 
sola  when  he  entered.  Candelabra  on  little  tables 
thrust  flowers  of  light  into  the  gloom;  here  and 
there  glowed  the  pale  orange  globes  of  lamps. 

He  paced  up  and  down  in  his  favourite  fashion, 


230  The  Torch  of  Life 

his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  his  thoughts, 
like  moths,  always  wandering  back  to  Titian. 

Yes,  she  had  blossomed.  She  was  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever,  gayer,  younger,  more  sweetly 
womanly.  How  lovely  her  hands  were!  How 
glad  he  was  that  she  had  not  forgotten  that  trick 
of  pushing  back  the  straying  chestnut  lock !  How 
would  it  be  to  feel  their  satin  coolness  on  his  fore- 
head when  his  head  ached,  as  it  had  done  sometimes 
of  late?  He  locked  the  door  on  the  picture-gallery 
of  his  imagination.  That  way  madness  lay.  It 
would  not  do.  One  could  not  tell  where  the 
visions  would  end. 

So  absorbed  was  he  that  he  did  not  hear  a  light 
step  behind  him,  nor  was  he  conscious  of  another's 
presence  until  Toye  slipped  her  hand  through  his 
arm. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  my  prophetic 
soul,"  she  cried  gaily. 

"You  won't  want  to  pay, "  said  Fenton,  swinging 
round  and  catching  her  by  the  waist. 

"Why  not?" 

She  made  a  vividly  arresting  little  figure  in  the 
big  half -lit  room.  She  wore  a  dress  of  turquoise- 
blue  veiled  in  sea-green.  Her  smooth  red  hair  was 
piled  high  on  her  head  and  caught  with  a  carved 
jade  comb.  Round  her  neck  was  a  chain  of  beryls 


The  Dinner  Party  231 

which  repeated  the  faint  green  of  the  jade  and  lay 
like  drops  of  sea-water  on  the  milky  whiteness  of 
her  skin.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  her  lips  looked  soft 
and  red. 

"I  always  pay  my  debts — when  I  can,"  she 
continued. 

"How  long  were  you  listening  inside  that 
window  to-day?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  little  gasp  and  a 
queer  gleam  came  into  her  eyes.  Then  her  bright- 
ness grew  suddenly  veiled.  Her  head  drooped  and 
two  slow  tears  forced  themselves  from  between  her 
light  red  lashes. 

"How  wickedly  suspicious  you  are!"  she  said, 
with  quivering  mouth;  her  tones  trembled  a  little. 

Fenton  felt  very  uncomfortable.  He  wished 
with  all  his  heart  that  he  had  not  yielded  to  im- 
pulse. He  had  no  desire  to  hurt  Toye.  He  had 
not  even  realised  that  she  could  be  hurt. 

She  turned  away;  her  shoulders  shaking.  He 
followed  her  awkwardly. 

"I  say,  Toye,  child — I  didn't  mean " 

She  swirled  round  on  him,  her  face  alight  with 
mischief,  though  the  tears  still  hung  on  her  lashes. 

"Didn't  you?  Bless  you,  my  Fenty,  what  a 
lovely  rise!  I  did  it  well,  didn't  I?  It's  one  of 
my  gifts — a  valuable  one,  too — being  able  to 


232  The  Torch  of  Life 

pump  up  my  tears  at  will!"  She  chuckled  as  she 
wiped  away  the  drops  with  a  lace-edged  wisp. 

Fenton,  half-annoyed,  half-amused,  made  a 
step  towards  her. 

"You  little " 

"Do  say  it,  Fenty.  You'll  feel  much  better, 
and  I  shan't  mind. "  Her  diversion  had  been  most 
successful.  She  hummed  a  tango-tune  and  made 
a  few  sliding  steps,  smiling  up  at  him  with  her 
head  on  one  side. 

"You  little  nettle!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  do 
you  always  sting  everyone  who  touches  you, 
Toye?" 

"I  suppose  because  no  one  as  yet  has  had  the 
courage  to  'grasp  me  like  a  man  of  mettle,'"  she 
rejoined,  bending  one  knee  to  the  ground  in  search 
of  a  new  pose. 

"Haven't  they?    Here  goes,  then!" 

Fenton  caught  her  by  the  waist,  swung  her 
through  the  air  and  perched  her  up  on  the  high 
marble  mantelpiece  whose  ledge  was  some  six 
feet  from  the  ground. 

' '  Fenty ! ' '  she  cried.     ' '  Take  me  down  at  once. " 

Fenton  backed  until  he  was  out  of  reach. 
"Certainly  not.  There  you  stay  until  you  apolo- 
gise for  the  trick  you  played  on  me,  young  lady. " 

"Fenty,  you're  a  beast!" 


The  Dinner  Party  233 

"Yes?" 

"You're  not  going  to  leave  me  here  until  they  all 
come,  are  you?" 

"Certainly,  unless  you  apologise." 

"Fenty,  don't  you  know  that  it  is  better  to  be 
stung  by  a  nettle  than  pricked  by  a  rose?" 

"Is  it?" 

"You  might  take  me  down.  I'd  jump  only 
that  I'm  afraid  of  spraining  my  ankle. " 

"That  would  be  a  pity,"  said  Fenton  noncha- 
lantly. "You've  fairly  decent  ankles." 

"Yes,  my  extremities  are  quite  good,"  she  said, 
swinging  her  little  feet  and  spreading  out  her  taper- 
ing fingers.  "You  might  take  me  down,  Fenty. " 

"I  might,  but  I  shan't,"  Fenton  answered, 
putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "Unless  you 
apologise. " 

"I'll  see  you  hanged  first!" 

"You  don't  like  to  be  laughed  at.  Neither  do  I. 
The  experience  will  be  salutary  for  you.  Here's 
the  first  arrival." 

The  door  of  the  sola  opened  to  admit  Lady 
Tempest. 

"Ah,  you're  down,  Fenty.  I  thought  I  heard 
you  talking  to  someone."  She  peered  forward. 

Fenton  laughed.  "You  did.  I  was  talking  to 
Toye.  There  she  is!" 


234  The  Torch  of  Life 

Lady  Tempest  looked  and  found  her. 

"Toye!  My  dear  child,  how  ridiculous  of  you! 
Do  come  down.  Mrs.  Fleury  will  be  here  in  a 
moment. " 

Toye  settled  herself  more  comfortably  on  her 
marble  shelf.  Her  mother's  remonstrance  changed 
her  attitude.  After  all,  she  might  be  the  means 
of  making  Fenton  look  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of 
his  beloved — silly,  antiquated,  old-fashioned  Fenty ! 
How  dare  he  pick  her  up  and  put  her  on  the  mantel- 
piece as  if  she  were  a  china  ornament !  How  dare 
he  treat  her  like  a  baby! 

"My  dear  mother,"  she  said  coolly,  "it  is  your 
beloved  brother  whom  you  should  scold  and  not 
me.  It  was  Fenty  who  put  me  here." 

Lady  Tempest  turned  to  him. 

"She's  telling  the  truth  for  once,  Mollie.  She 
played  a  nasty  trick  on  me,  and  I  perched  her  there 
as  a  punishment  until  she  says  she's  sorry. " 

"With  your  regard  for  the  truth,  Fenty,  I  can- 
not imagine  why  you  should  wish  to  force  me  to 
tell  a  deliberate  lie!" 

"But,  Fenty!"  Lady  Tempest  began. 

The  door  opened  again.  Titian  and  Miss 
Gerard  entered.  Toye  had  an  uninterrupted 
view  of  the  two  as  they  came  up  the  room. 

Miss  Gerard  looked  festive,  her  asperities  soft- 


The  Dinner  Party  235 

ened  by  a  grey  chiffon  gown  and  a  pink  rose,  but 
Titian  was  radiantly  beautiful  in  her  filmy  black 
draperies.  She  wore  no  ornaments  but  her  plati- 
num chain  and  the  plaque  set  with  emeralds. 
Toye  noted  the  odd  coincidence  of  their  both 
having  chosen  green  stones  to  wear  that  evening. 
She  touched  her  pale  beryls.  Their  lack  of  colour 
seemed  to  emphasise  by  contrast  the  physical 
differences  between  her  and  Titian.  She  caught 
her  breath  for  a  moment  at  the  sheer  triumphant 
loveliness  of  the  other.  Then  she  reflected  with  a 
swift  touch  of  satisfaction  that  at  least  Titian's 
skin  was  no  whiter  than  her  own. 

"Hullo,  Mrs.  Fleury,  how  do  you  admire  the 
new  drawing-room  ornament?"  she  called  gaily. 
Fenty  should  not  have  the  satisfaction  of  thinking 
that  he  had  made  her  feel  ridiculous,  at  any  rate. 

Titian  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"Is  this  the  newest  craze?"  she  asked. 

"The  very  newest,"  Toye  responded.  "It  was 
a  brain- wave  on  the  part  of  Fenty.  He  thought 
that  the  mantelpiece  looked  rather  bare,  et  voild!  " 

"A  very  charming  ornament,"  said  Titian. 
She  laughed  as  she  turned  to  greet  Sir  Hugh. 
Something  in  her  look  and  tone  pricked  Toye  to 
annoyance.  She  felt  suddenly  hoydenish.  Yet 
Titian  was  conscious  of  admiring  the  girl's  non- 


236  The  Torch  of  Life 

chalance  as  she  half-lay  along  the  mantelpiece 
in  a  graceful  attitude,  supporting  herself  by  one 
slim  hand. 

Toye's  face  darkened  a  little  as  Cosmo  Trevor 
entered,  paying  his  devoirs  as  he  came  up  the 
room. 

She  moved  impatiently,  swinging  her  feet. 
The  motion  caught  his  eyes. 

"Why,  Toye!  San  Toye  on  a  pedestal!  Ye 
gods  and  little  fishes,  what  a  spectacle!" 

"I'm  not  posing  as  a  new  deity,  Cosmo,  so 
there  is  no  need  for  you  to  take  fright ! "  Her  tone 
was  tinged  with  irony.  In  her  heart  burned  rage 
against  Fenton,  but  she  was  not  going  to  let  him 
see  that  she  cared.  She  hated  Titian  for  her  air 
of  detached  amusement.  She  almost  hated  Cosmo 
for  smiling. 

"I'm  tired  of  being  so  far  from  human-kind. 
Take  me  down. " 

"Let  me  enjoy  the  sight  for  a  moment  longer. 
Who  was  the  hero  who  put  you  there?" 

"Fenty." 

"Good  man,  Fenty.  Fenton  Mede,  sir,  I  salute 
you.  I'll  head  the  subscription  list  for  a  National 
Monument  to  you. " 

"  That's  all  right, "  said  Fenton  shortly.  He  was 
beginning  to  tire  of  his  joke. 


The  Dinner  Party  237 

Toye  looked  down  at  her  feet ;  she  felt  glad  that 
they  were  so  small.  The  satin-shod  toes  that 
peeped  from  beneath  Titian's  skirt  showed  much 
ampler  proportions. 

"If  you  have  all  quite  finished  being  witty  at 
my  expense  you  might  take  me  down.  Please, 
Cosmo,"  she  said,  closing  her  eyes  until  they 
looked  like  glittering  greenish  slits,  and  holding 
out  her  hands. 

Titian  was  reminded  of  the  singing-girl's  expres- 
sion on  that  unforgettable  night.  Something  in 
Toye's  face  seemed  to  melt  for  a  moment  as  Cosmo 
came  up  to  her. 

"Put  your  hands  on  my  shoulders  and  let  me 
get  mine  on  your  waist,"  he  said.  There  was 
no  emotion  in  his  tone,  but  his  grasp  tightened  on 
her  soft  body  as  she  slid  towards  him  and  slipped 
through  his  arms  to  the  ground,  a  little  breath- 
less, but  still  defiant. 

At  the  sight  a  swift  pang  shot  through  Titian. 
Primitive  woman  awoke  and  stirred,  and  the 
emotion  was  not  pleasant.  Why  should  it  rouse 
resentment  within  her  to  see  Cosmo  Trevor  help 
the  girl  to  the  ground?  Could  this  stab  of  pain 
really  be  caused  by  that  meanest  of  all  vices, 
jealousy? 

She  looked  up  confusedly  to  find  Fenton's  eyes 


238  The  Torch  of  Life 

fixed  upon  her,  and  turned  away  with  a  sense  of 
annoyance. 

Sir  Hugh  was  at  her  side  with  extended  arm. 
She  took  it  with  a  little  sigh  of  relief  and  they  went 
in  to  dinner. 

At  dinner,  Cosmo  Trevor  put  forth  all  his  powers 
to  please.  For  a  while,  Toye  sat  silent  with  a  half- 
sulky,  half -mutinous  look  about  her  mouth;  then 
she  shook  off  her  annoyance  with  a  little  shrug 
of  her  bare  milk-white  shoulders  and  became  her 
flippant,  impudent  self  once  more. 

Titian,  with  carmine  cheeks,  talked  to  Sir  Hugh 
with  forced  lightness,  charming  him  anew.  She 
was  animated,  even  gay.  She  was  learning  the 
ways  of  her  world  quickly.  Fenton  at  her  other 
side  was  unusually  responsive  to  her  mood.  It 
was  rather  dear  of  him,  she  thought. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  Toye  held  out  her  hand 
for  Cosmo's  cigarette-case. 

"I  left  my  own  upstairs.  Do  you  smoke, 
Mrs.  Fleury?" 

"No,"  Titian  answered. 

"  What  a  portentous  no ! "  laughed  Toye.  "  I'm 
sure  you  disapprove  of  the  habit,  though.  The 
really  good  woman  always  does." 

"Does  she?"  answered  Titian  simply,  ignoring 
the  desire  to  sting.  "I  really  haven't  thought 


The  Dinner  Party  239 

about  it.  Still,  it's  charming  of  you  to  credit 
me  with  a  goodness  which  perhaps  I  may  not 
deserve. " 

"It's  an  old-fashioned  quality,"  put  in  Fenton 
quietly,  "and  so  it  doesn't  appeal  to  Toye." 

"What  about  the  really  good  man?"  asked  Cos- 
mo, glancing  at  Fenton. 

Toye's  tone  was  vicious.  "He  doesn't  exist,  or 
if  he  does  he's  always  a  fool. " 

"Really,  Toye,  you're  talking  hopeless  non- 
sense, "  said  Lady  Tempest,  rising. 

Cosmo  opened  the  door  for  them.  As  Toye 
passed,  he  murmured  in  her  ear: 

"Simplicity  knows  some  of  the  moves  in  the 
game  at  any  rate. " 

"Of  course,  the  queen  can  do  no  wrong, "  Toye, 
snapped.  "As  for  Fenty,  I'd  like  to  smack  his 
face." 

"What  a  joy  it  would  be  to  see  you  attempt  it ! " 

The  girl's  eyes  seemed  to  shoot  sparks  like  a 
cat's.  Then  she  laughed.  "He  did  not  realise 
how  he  was  giving  himself  away  when  he  shaved 
off  his  beard.  He's  a  sphinx  without  a  secret 
now. " 

" Is  he,  too,  as  transparent  as  a  sheet  of  glass?" 

"All  men  are  transparent  if  you  look  at  them 
from  the  right  angle." 


240  The  Torch  of  Life 

"What's  that?" 

"I  don't  want  to  be  a  sphinx  without  a  secret," 
she  answered,  slipping  away  after  the  others. 

Lady  Tempest  and  Miss  Gerard  sat  near  one  of 
the  lamps,  both  heads  bent  over  an  intricate 
pattern  in  knitting.  Titian  was  in  her  favourite 
carved  chair,  a  little  apart  from  them. 

Toye  glanced  at  her  as  she  went  to  the  piano 
and  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys  in  a  pianissimo 
chromatic  scale. 

"  Do  you  sing,  Mrs.  Fleury  ?  "  she  asked  over  her 
shoulder. 

"No." 

"You  should  have  added,  'Only  in  church  or  in 
my  bath!'  That's  the  formula  for  people  who 
say  they  are  fond  of  music  but  don't  sing. " 

Titian  gave  an  amused  laugh.  "I  confess  that 
I  had  never  before  thought  of  my  bath  as  a  place 
wherein  I  could  lift  up  my  voice.  I  am  in  your 
debt." 

Toye  swerved  round  on  the  piano-stool  and 
looked  at  her  with  a  franker  interest.  It  was  as 
if  she  measured  swords  now  where  before  she  had 
been  content  to  leave  hers  in  its  scabbard.  The 
Sleeping  Beauty  was  beginning  to  awaken.  Here 
was  food  for  thought. 

"Sing  something,  Toye,"  said  her  mother. 


The  Dinner  Party  241 

"I  will  when  Cosmo  comes.  No  one  can  play 
my  accompaniments  as  he  does." 

"He  will  come  when  he  hears  the  sound  of 
music." 

Toye  did  not  answer,  but  after  playing  aimlessly 
for  a  second  or  two  her  wanderings  crystallised 
into  the  prelude  of  a  song. 

16 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ON  THE  BALCONY 

'""PITIAN  was  conscious  of  a  half-reluctant 
*  shock  of  delight  when  Toye,  lifting  her 
head,  broke  into  song.  Her  voice  bubbled  from 
her  throat  as  easily  as  a  bird's  does;  like  a  bird's 
too,  it  was  high  and  clear  and  almost  piercingly 
sweet.  The  words  had  a  familiar  ring.  Suddenly 
she  remembered  that  she  had  come  across  them  in 
one  of  Fenton's  little  vellum-covered  books  at 
Camus.  It  was  the  Echo  Song  of  Gauradas,  set 
to  a  rippling  tune  that  was  sweet  and  elusive  as 
the  nymph  herself. 

"  Echo,  echo,  are  you  here  ? 

(Here,  did  echo  cry) 
Doth  my  lover  hold  me  dear  ? 
(Dear,  she  made  reply). 

"  Comes  the  hour  of  gladness  nigh  ? 

(Nigh,  quoth  echo  gay) 
Say  her  faithful  swain  and  I 
(Aye,  she  seemed  to  say). 
242 


On  the  Balcony  243 

"  Gifts  of  love  and  pledges  true, 

These  she  shall  not  lack; 
Who  should  carry  them  save  you  ? 
(You,  she  whispered  back). 

"  Echo,  echo,  if  I  go, 

Shall  I  be  denied  ? 
Tell  me  this,  for  you  must  know. 
(No,  the  echo  cried)." 

It  was  a  dainty  performance  and  Toye  gave  the 
echoed  words  with  exquisite  purity. 

"How  delicious!"  cried  Titian  when  the  last 
echo  had  faded  up  to  the  painted  ceiling.  "  I  know 
the  words,  but  where  did  you  find  such  a  perfect 
setting?" 

There  was  real  warmth  in  her  tone. 

"The  setting's  Cosmo's,"  returned  Toye  care- 
lessly. "The  song  is  really  a  man's,  but  I  took  a 
fancy  to  it,  and  as  it  suits  my  voice  much  better 
than  his,  I  invariably  sing  it  whenever  he's  about, 
so  as  to  prevent  him  from  doing  so. " 

"Amiable!"  remarked  Miss  Gerard  quite  audi- 
bly. She  thoroughly  disapproved  of  Toye,  and 
took  no  pains  to  conceal  her  opinion. 

"It's  kinder  than  you  think,  perhaps,  Miss 
Gerard, "  said  Toye,  who  was  quite  aware  of  the 
fact,  and  rather  enjoyed  the  knowledge  than 
otherwise.  "It's  too  high  for  Cosmo,  and  he 


244  The  Torch  of  Life 

doesn't  do  the  echo  part  a  bit  nicely.  Do  you, 
Cossie?"  she  asked,  swinging  round  on  the  piano- 
stool  as  the  men  came  in. 

"Am  I  supposed  to  say  yes,  or  no?"  he  asked, 
drawing  a  chair  towards  where  Titian  sat. 

"Come,  my  good  youth,  you're  not  going  to  be 
let  off  like  that,"  she  said.  "Here  have  I  been 
waiting  for  you  to  come  in  to  play  the  accompani- 
ment to  a  little  ditty  which  expresses  the  views  of 
Mother  and  Dad  and  Fenty  on  the  whole  Sex 
Problem  (including  the  Feminist  Movement)  in 
a  nutshell." 

"What's  the  name  of  the  encyclopaedic  lay?" 
asked  Cosmo,  his  hand  still  on  the  back  of  the 
chair. 

Titian  gave  a  side-glance  at  him  to  see  what  he 
would  do,  but  she  did  not  raise  her  eyes  from  the 
plaque  which  she  was  twirling  round  and  round 
on  its  chain.  She  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  keep 
him  near  her  if  he  did  not  wish  to  stay. 

Fenton  stood  near  the  piano,  lifting  sheets  of 
music  and  studying  them  with  eyes  that  saw 
nothing  but  the  black-robed  figure  in  the  carved 
chair  and  the  green  glints  from  the  twirling  jewel. 

"It's  The  Auld  Wife!  I  know  Fenty  will  love 
it,"  said  Toye.  "Be  agreeable  for  once  in  your 
short  life,  Cosmo,  and  come  and  play  it." 


On  the  Balcony  245 

"With  pleasure, "  he  returned,  taking  his  hand 
reluctantly  from  the  chair.  "It  is  sweet  to  hear 
you  ask  instead  of  order,  Toye.  I'm  sure  we  all 
owe  your  Uncle  Fenty  a  debt  of  gratitude." 

Fenton  moved  abruptly  as  Cosmo  came  up  to 
the  piano.  For  a  moment  the  two  men  stood  side 
by  side. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Titian  had  had  a  chance 
of  actual  comparison.  She  used  to  think  that 
Fenton  looked  rather  nice  in  evening  dress.  Now 
she  saw  that  the  firm  line  of  cheek  and  chin  and 
the  repressed  sadness  of  his  beautiful  mouth  won 
distinction  for  him.  Beside  his  strength,  Cosmo 
looked  a  dapper  exquisite. 

Fenton  crossed  to  her  side  and  sat  in  the  chair 
which  Cosmo  had  left  vacant.  Something  in  his 
look  smote  her  to  sudden  pity. 

"Tired,  Fenty?"  she  asked  softly,  as  Toye  began 
to  sing. 

Toye  acted  the  little  ballad  with  verve  and  point. 
It  was  amusing  to  watch  as  well  as  to  listen  to  her. 

"  Whustle,  whustle,  ye  auld  wife, 

An'  I'll  gie  ye  a  hen!" 
"  I  couldna  whustle  for  ma  life, 

Gin  ye  wad  gie  me  ten." 

"  Whustle,  whustle,  ye  auld  wife, 
An'  I'll  gie  ye  a  cock." 


246  The  Torch  of  Life 

"  I  couldna  whustle  for  ma  life, 
Gin  ye  gie  me  a  flock!  " 

"  Whustle,  whustle,  ye  auld  wife 

An'  I'll  gie  ye  a  man  I " 
"  Whe-e-w !    Whe-e-w !    Whe-e-w ! ' ' 

(Here  Toye  pursed  up  her  lips  in  a  mock  attempt 
to  whistle) 

"I'll  whustle  all  I  can!" 

The  applause  which  greeted  her  effort  was  un- 
forced. Even  Miss  Gerard  relaxed.  Now  that 
Toye  was  in  the  mood  for  music  her  energies  were 
untiring.  Song  followed  song,  and  when  her  voice 
flagged,  she  made  Cosmo  take  her  place.  But  his 
singing  to-night  held  no  thrill  for  Titian.  She 
enjoyed  it  from  an  artistic  point  of  view,  but  it  was 
a  pleasure  that  lacked  glamour. 

When  Toye  had  had  enough  she  whirled  him  off 
the  piano-stool. 

"Now  for  the  tango,"  she  cried.  "Mummy, 
come  and  play  El  Choclo." 

She  drew  Cosmo  into  a  clear  space  and  stood 
with  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  waiting  for  the 
music  to  begin.  She  did  not  care  whether  anyone 
else  wanted  to  see  the  tango  or  rot.  She  wished 
to  dance  it,  that  was  enough.  Over  her  shoulder 


On  the  Balcony  247 

she  flung  a  glance  at  Titian.  The  eyes  of  the  two 
women  met,  and  Titian  read  defiance  in  Toye's 
look.  It  was  as  if  she  said :  "This  is  my  playfellow, 
not  yours.  He  always  has  been  mine — always 
will  be  mine.  I  came  first.  Hands  off!" 

"I  came  first!"  That  was  written  in  every 
supple  curve  of  the  bending  body,  of  the  red  lips, 
of  the  smooth  hair  rising  above  the  carved  jade 
comb. 

Something  in  Titian  rose  to  the  challenge.  She 
remembered  the  odd  power  which  her  beauty  had 
wielded  over  Arnot.  For  the  first  time,  she  recog- 
nised it  as  a  weapon  of  woman  against  woman. 
For  the  first  time  also,  she  felt  glad  that  she  was 
beautiful — glad  with  the  swift  surge  of  that  primi- 
tive passion  of  which  her  inner  consciousness  was 
somehow  ashamed. 

As  the  dancers  lost  themselves  in  the  pleasure  of 
their  woven  paces,  as  they  swayed  backwards  and 
forwards  in  their  magic  circle  of  gold  and  orange 
light,  sending  their  shadows  flickering,  now  to, 
now  from  the  watchers  on  the  outskirts,  Titian 
had  once  more  the  lonely  feeling  of  being  thrust 
outside  a  fairy  ring.  This  time  the  sensation  was 
shot  with  a  swift  determination  to  get  inside  it 
which  made  her  incline  graciously  towards  Fenton 
when  he  touched  her  arm  and  said  softly: 


248  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Come  out  on  the  balcony  for  a  moment,  will 
you?" 

Without  a  word,  she  rose  noiselessly  and  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  open  window.  He  stood  aside 
to  let  her  pass,  and  she  went  out  into  the  night 
beneath  the  wide  immensity  of  the  star-pricked  sky. 

It  was  dark  and  clear.  The  stars  seemed  small 
and  bright  and  very  far  away.  The  distant  lamp- 
light threw  a  suffused  glow  on  the  balcony. 

"What  is  it,  Fenty?"  she  asked  gently,  leaning 
over  the  parapet  and  looking  down  to  the  velvet 
blackness  of  the  canal,  whose  lapping  waters  were 
scarcely  visible. 

Through  the  open  window  came  the  sound  of 
music  and  the  "whisper- whisper"  of  sliding  feet. 
It  seemed  as  if  in  one  instant  they  had  stepped  from 
a  world  of  colour  and  movement  into  a  solitude 
of  shadowy  darkness. 

Titian  shivered  a  little.  "  Did  you  want  to  say 
anything  particular  to  me?" 

"No.  Yes.  I  don't  know,"  answered  Fenton, 
leaning  against  the  balcony  and  putting  his  hands 
in  his  pockets. 

He  had  been  a  fool  to  touch  her  bare  arm,  he 
told  himself.  The  contact  with  its  smoothness 
had  sent  fire  through  his  veins.  It  was  folly  to 
awaken  needs  which  might  never  know  fulfilment. 


On  the  Balcony  249 

For  one  mad  moment,  he  wondered  what  would 
happen  if  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  tried  Toye's 
test.  Would  his  kiss  have  power  to  awaken  her, 
or  was  that  boon  for  Cosmo  or  some  other  pleasant 
trifler?  No,  he  told  himself,  clenching  his  hands. 
It  would  need  a  man  to  arouse  her  true  woman- 
hood. In  his  inmost  being,  he  felt  that  he  could  be 
that  man,  just  as  he  knew  that  she  was  the  one 
woman  for  him.  But  it  was  his  part  to  stand  aside 
and  see  others  woo  her.  Honour,  that  most  im- 
palpable and  indestructible  of  chains,  held  him 
fast  bound. 

"You're  rather  vague,  Fenty, "  she  said. 

Fenton  curbed  himself  to  answer  in  ordinary 
tones. 

"The  fact  is  that  I  wanted  to  have  you  to  my- 
self for  a  little.  I  wanted  to  get  away  from  those 
exuberant  youngsters.  They  were  beginning  to 
bore  me." 

"Oh,  were  they?"     Her  voice  was  cold. 

In  that  one  phrase,  he  seemed  to  put  her  on  the 
plane  of  his  own  middle-age,  to  shut  her  out  once 
for  all  from  the  charmed  circle  of  youth.  Exuber- 
ant youngsters!  He  bracketed  them  together  in 
imagination,  setting  her  aside.  Hot  tears  sud- 
denly welled  into  her  eyes.  It  was  cruel  of  Fenty 
to  rob  her  of  her  new-found  youth. 


250  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Do  you  want  to  go  back?"  he  asked  wistfully. 

The  light  from  the  window  fell  softly  upon  her 
waves  of  hair  and  the  line  of  her  shoulders. 

"I?     Oh,  no.     It  is — very  quiet  out  here." 

"And  you  like  quiet?" 

"  I  don't.  I  hate  it.  I'm  sick  of  it ! "  she  broke 
forth.  "I've  had  nothing  but  quiet  all  my  life 
until  now." 

He  moved  quickly.     "I'm  sorry.     Let's  go  in." 

She  turned  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Oh,  no,  Fenty,  don't  be  stupid,"  she  cried 
petulantly.  She  could  not  face  the  light  again 
until  the  tears  had  dried  on  her  lashes. 

He  leaned  back  against  the  balcony  rail. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  stupid,"  he  said  patiently. 
"You  must  put  up  with  me,  Titian.  You  see, 
I  don't  profess  to  understand  women.  I  know 
so  few.  Only  Mollie  and — you." 

"We're  different  types,  at  any  rate,"  she  an- 
swered, touching  her  wet  eyelashes  surreptitiously 
to  remove  the  drops. 

"You  are."  Then  he  asked  suddenly.  "Do 
you  agree  with  Toye  that  all  good  men  are  fools?" 

."I — don't  know,"  she  replied,  a  little  startled 
by  the  intensity  of  the  question. 

"Think,  then.  It's  time  you  learned  to  think. 
You've  got  to  think  out  heaps  of  things  for  your- 


On  the  Balcony  251 

self.  Only  you  yourself  can  live  your  own  life. 
Only  you  yourself  can  worry  out  your  own  Whys 
and  Wherefores.  No  one  else  is  any  use. " 

"  Fenty,  why  do  you  always  find  fault  with  me? '' 

"I  find  fault  with  you?"  he  cried  under  his 
breath.  He  moved  farther  into  the  shadows.  He 
did  not  want  her  to  see  his  face.  "I'm  not  find- 
ing fault  with  you,  child,"  he  said  gently.  "I 
only  want  to  help  you  if  I  can.  Tell  me,  do  you 
think  a  man  is  a  fool  who  puts  honour  above  all 
considerations?  " 

"Certainly  not." 

"Above  his  one  chance  of  happiness?" 

"No,  indeed." 

"I  wish  I  could  be  sure  that  you  understand 
what  you  are  saying, "  he  said  with  a  stifled  sigh. 

"How  can  I  when  you  talk  in  riddles?"  she 
asked. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Titian,"  he  answered.  "The 
world's  an  odd  place  and  man  is  the  queerest 
animal  in  it." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you  there." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  From  the  room  be- 
hind, the  music  still  sounded  gaily,  though  the 
sliding  steps  had  ceased.  Murmurs  of  voices, 
snatches  of  instruction,  a  trill  of  laughter  from 
Toye  floated  through  the  open  window. 


252  The  Torch  of  Life 

Titian  stirred  impatiently.  She  had  no  desire  to 
be  a  looker-on  at  life.  She  did  not  want  to  stay 
moping  here  with  Fenty  in  the  shadows,  especially 
when  he  had  grown  so  cross  and  queer. 

"I  haven't  offended  you?"  he  asked  humbly. 

"Oh,  no." 

"I  was  afraid  I  had." 

"It  isn't  like  you  to  be  so  meek,  Fenty,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  laugh. 

The  sound  hurt.  He  felt  very  lonely,  very 
unhappy. 

1 '  Isn't  it  ?  "  He  went  on  with  difficulty.  ' '  You 
see  I  want  you  to  give  me  a — a  pleasant  memory 
for  my — for  my " 

"For  your  what,  Fenty?"  she  asked. 

"For  my  last  evening,"  he  blurted  out. 

"Your  last  evening?" 

"Yes.    I  must  get  back  to  England  to-morrow." 

"Why?     Oh,  I  am  sorry." 

"Business  of  various  sorts,"  he  answered  shortly. 
"I  didn't  tell  you  sooner  because — well,  because  I 
didn't  want  to  spoil  the  day."  As  he  spoke  he 
felt  miserably  that  the  knowledge  would  not  have 
spoiled  the  day  for  her. 

Her  heart  melted.     She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"What  pleasant  memory  can  I  give  you,  Fenty? 
Tell  me.  I'll  do  anything  you  like.  Would  you 


On  the  Balcony  253 

like  to  come  out  in  the  gondola?  You  haven't 
been  on  the  Grand  Canal  at  night.  It's  entrancing. 

There  was  nothing  in  her  tone  but  the  sweetest 
friendliness. 

Entrancing!  Yes,  it  would  be  that.  Out  in 
the  darkness  of  the  scented  night,  he  and  she, 
alone  beneath  the  stars.  Too  entrancing  for  him. 

"No,"  he  answered.  His  throat  was  dry.  He 
could  not  trust  himself  to  say  more. 

"What  then?"  she  queried. 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  turning  abruptly.  "I 
think  we'd  better  get  back  to  the  others. " 

"You  are  a  stupid  old  Fenty, "  she  said,  with  a 
puzzled  smile,  stepping  into  the  light.  Her  eyes 
were  quite  dry  now. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  following  her. 

The  tango  was  over,  the  dancers  flushed  and 
smiling.  He  avoided  the  kind  anxiety  of  Mollie's 
look. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LOVE  WITHOUT  WINGS 

ODERN  manners,"  said  Miss  Gerard,  "leave 
much  to  be  desired. " 

"We  haven't  seen  enough  of  them  to  be  able 
to  judge,"  answered  Titian,  putting  down  her 
cup. 

"You  didn't  see  the  way  that  little  hussy  danced 
last  night,"  Miss  Gerard  continued.  "You  had 
the  good  sense  to  go  out  on  the  balcony  with 
Mr.  Mede,  delightful  man!" 

Deep  down  in  Titian's  heart  lurked  a  feeling  of 
regret  for  Fenton;  she  feared  that  she  had  not 
been  nice  enough  to  him.  His  little  holiday  was 
so  short,  poor  old  Fenty,  and  now  he  was  gone  and 
she  could  not  make  it  up  to  him.  It  was  good  to 
be  with  him ;  she  wished  that  he  could  have  stayed 
longer. 

"I  expect  he  was  disgusted  at  his  niece's  per- 
formance. Such  antics  I  never  saw!  And  then 
her  brazenness,  cocked  up  on  the  mantelpiece!" 
continued  Miss  Gerard. 

254 


Love  Without  Wings  255 

"It  was  Fenton  who  put  her  there,  Miss  Em." 

"  Of  course.  That  sort  of  girl  always  provokes  a 
man  to  do  that  sort  of  thing  to  her.  How  well  she 
waited  for  Mr.  Trevor  to  take  her  down!" 

Titian  flushed  at  the  remembrance  of  the  scene. 
She  felt  a  little  tired  this  afternoon.  A  feeling  of 
flatness  pervaded  her  day.  A  cloud,  albeit  a  small 
one,  seemed  to  have  arisen  between  her  and  Fenty, 
and  Cosmo  Trevor  appeared  to  be  in  no  hurry  to 
renew  that  pleasant  companionship  which  had 
added  such  a  new  savour  to  life.  Miss  Em's 
comments  were  too  prejudiced  to  be  amusing. 
Venice  had  certainly  lost  some  of  its  sparkle. 

"Will  you  have  some  more  tea,  Miss  Em?" 

"  No,  thank  you.  Shall  I  ring  to  have  the  things 
taken  away?" 

"Please,"  said  Titian  listlessly. 

"She  is  lonely  without  Mr.  Mede,"  thought 
Miss  Gerard.  "Ah,  I  wonder — "  As  she  won- 
dered, her  sharp  forefinger  pressed  the  electric 
button  in  time  to  an  imaginary  wedding-march, 
and  she  came  back  to  the  tea-table  with  a  smile  on 
her  thin  lips. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  she  asked. 
"I'm  half-thinking  of  going  out  to  buy  some  of 
those  coloured  postcards  of  the  Lido  which  we  saw 
this  morning.  Would  you  care  to  come  too?" 


256  The  Torch  of  Life 

"No,  thanks.  I  don't  think  so.  I  think  I'll 
read  for  a  little.  I've  hardly  opened  a  book  since 
I  came  to  Venice." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke  and  went  over  to  a  table 
which  held  some  books. 

"Very  well,  I  won't  urge  you,"  said  Miss 
Gerard,  "but  it  seems  a  pity  to  be  indoors  this 
glorious  afternoon. " 

"I'll  go  out  on  the  balcony  presently. " 

She  turned  over  the  books.  None  of  them 
appealed  to  her  present  mood.  She  was  not  in 
the  humour  for  the  calm  philosophy  of  Marcus 
Aurelius,  the  brave  self-satisfaction  of  Cellini,  or 
the  delicate  allusiveness  of  Lucas.  The  Tauchnitz 
novels  she  dismissed  as  being  unreal — no  novel 
that  she  had  ever  read  was  anything  like  life  as 
she  knew  it;  no  imaginary  characters  thought  or 
felt  as  she  did.  Poetry  was  too  romantic;  she 
was  out  of  tune  with  the  joyous  paganism  of  old 
Omar. 

The  waiter,  Giuseppe,  who  had  flown  upstairs 
at  the  imperative  instance  of  Miss  Gerard's  hy- 
meneal summons,  lingered  for  a  moment. 

"The  signora  requires  nothing  more?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you,  Giuseppe." 

"The  signora  receives?" 

"Yes,  if  anyone  calls." 


Love  Without  Wings  257 

She  pushed  aside  the  books  discontentedly  and 
walked  to  the  window  which  opened  on  the  bal- 
cony. Beneath  her  moved  the  water-life,  gay  and 
varied  as  ever.  To-day  it  held  no  appeal.  She 
wondered  why.  Was  it  she  who  had  changed?  If 
so,  what  had  changed  her?  She  did  not  quite 
know.  She  would  not  admit  any  obvious  reason. 

A  sound  behind  her  made  her  turn — a  voice 
saying  in  soft  Venetian  accents: 

"77  signore  Trevdre,  miladi." 

Cosmo  Trevor  came  across  the  room  towards 
her.  His  face  was  alight. 

Her  own  brightened  in  response. 

"How  good  of  you  to  see  me,"  he  said,  taking 
her  hand  in  a  quick  possessive  grasp.  "  I  had  not 
a  word  with  you  last  night.  You  were  very 
unkind.  I  had  sad  dreams  all  night. " 

"Had  you?  Poor  you!"  she  laughed  softly. 
"I  was  just  going  to  sit  out  on  the  balcony  and 
read,  but  I  couldn't  find  anything  that  I  cared 
about.  Will  you  come  and  sit  out  too,  or  would 
you  rather  stay  here?" 

"I  would  much  rather  be  on  the  balcony — with 
you,"  he  said,  stepping  out  after  her. 

The  afternoon  sun  sent  golden  shafts  across  the 
green  water ;  the  vivid  reflections  of  the  scarlet  and 
white  palle  beneath  swayed  like  giant  petals  upon 


258  The  Torch  of  Life 

the  ripples.  Swifts  screamed  and  darted.  A  gon- 
dola with  striped  awning  went  by ;  its  two  rowers 
had  orange  sashes  bound  about  their  waists. 

Titian  drew  a  long  breath. 

It  really  was  a  glorious  evening.  Miss  Em  was 
quite  right;  it  was  too  good  to  be  wasted  indoors. 
She  pulled  forward  a  low  wooden  chair  with  carved 
arms  and  sat  down. 

Cosmo  Trevor  leaned  against  the  edge  of  the 
marble  parapet  and  looked  down  at  her.  Certainly 
she  was  very  good  to  look  at,  and  her  trick  of 
flushing  and  paling  made  her  seem  strangely  young. 
There  was  a  certain  fascination  in  calling  up  and 
watching  for  her  lovely  blush. 

"Now  give  an  account  of  yourself,  most  beauti- 
ful lady,"  he  said,  with  a  quick  look  from  his 
handsome  grey  eyes. 

"An  account  of  myself?"  she  queried. 

"Why  did  you  desert  us  last  night?  Why  did 
you  leave  me  to  expend  my  utmost  store  of  energy 
in  dancing  with  the  irrepressible  Toye?" 

"I  thought  that  was  what  you  wished  to  do." 
She  laughed  as  she  glanced  up  at  him.  Life  had 
suddenly  grown  amusing  again. 

"Did  you  indeed?"  he  asked  softly.  "I  ad- 
mired the  masterly  way  in  which  Fenton  en- 
gineered your  retreat. " 


Love  Without  Wings  259 

"I  didn't  think  you  noticed,"  she  exclaimed 
simply. 

"Didn't  you?  I  notice  most  things,  Mrs. 
Fleury.  I  am  a  most  observant  person." 

"I  think  you  must  be." 

"I  envied  Fenton  last  night.  All  the  time  that 
I  was  treading  the  mazy  tango  I  was  consumed 
with  a  burning  desire  to  rush  out  on  the  balcony 
and  bundle  the  offending  Fenty,  neck  and  crop, 
into  the  canal." 

"Were  you?"  she  said,  veiling  her  eyes.  "I 
wonder  why?"  The  impossibility  of  the  feat 
gave  her  a  feeling  of  pleasure. 

He  bent  towards  her.  "Do  you  really  wonder 
why?  I  think  you  must  know.  Of  course,  I 
wanted  you  to  be  nice  to  me  instead  of  to  Fenton. " 

"But  I  wasn't,"  she  cried  remorsefully.  "I 
really  was  rather  horrid  to  him." 

"Were  you?  What  a  relief!  I  wish  I  had 
known  that  last  night." 

"Why?" 

"I  shouldn't  have  had  such  sad  dreams,"  he 
answered,  smiling  down  at  her. 

What  lovely  limpid  eyes  she  had,  clear  and 
brown  as  mountain  streams!  What  a  soft,  lovable 
mouth!  He  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  kiss  it.  He 
would  too,  some  day. 


260  The  Torch  of  Life 

He  bent  a  little  closer. 

"Is  this  the  balcony?"  he  asked. 

"The  balcony?"  she  echoed.  For  a  moment, 
she  did  not  know  what  he  meant. 

Then  the  steady  fire  of  his  gaze  enlightened  her 
and  her  cheeks  flamed  beneath  it. 

"Ah,  I  see  you  remember  now,"  he  said  caress- 
ingly. "  I  was  afraid  for  one  horrible  moment  that 
you  had  forgotten,  though  I  had  no  right  to  hope 
for  remembrance.  You  are  very  gracious.  It 
was — rather  an  impertinence  on  my  part. " 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said  in  soft  hurried  tones.  "Oh, 
no." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  saw  that  evening  when 
the  moon  shone  out  so  suddenly?" 

"Yes,  if  you  like,"  she  returned,  feeling  oddly 
shy.  Her  breath  came  faster,  her  pulses  quick- 
ened as  vthey  had  done  on  the  night  of  which 
he  spoke.  It  was  as  if  he  gave  her  back  the 
gift  of  youth  which  Fenty  had  seemed  to  snatch 
away. 

"I  saw  a  goddess  in  a  flood  of  silver  light,  a 
goddess  draped  in  the  mantle  of  the  night  edged 
with  a  drift  of  cloud.  I  saw  a  beautiful  rapt  face 
as  far  above  me  as  the  stars,  a  neck  of  snow,  aloof 
as  the  moon  in  its  whiteness.  Then  in  answer 
to  my  song  the  goddess  became  a  woman.  With 


Love  Without  Wings  261 

divine  generosity  she  rewarded  her  minstrel  with 
a  flower." 

His  voice  had  sunk  to  a  passionate  whisper. 
Speech  had  no  difficulty  for  him.  His  very  mur- 
murs wooed. 

"Stop!"  cried  Titian.  "It — was  an  accident. 
I  didn't  really  mean  to  give  you  those  flowers. 
They  slipped  out  of  my  dress  when  I  leaned  over. " 

"What  does  it  matter?  They  were  yours. 
They  came  to  me  warm  from  you.  That  is  all  I 
care  about." 

He  moved  nearer  to  her,  his  eyes  glowing. 

She  felt  a  sudden  shy  fear.  She  pushed  back  her 
chair.  It  grated  on  the  marble. 

Cosmo  passed  his  hand  over  his  smooth  hair,  and 
gave  a  little  embarrassed  laugh. 

"Forgive  me,  most  beautiful  lady,"  he  said. 
"You  go  to  my  head  like  wine." 

"  I — you  mustn't  say  such  things, "  she  breathed. 

"Don't  you  like  to  hear  them?" 

"Yes,  but " 

He  laughed  softly.  "  If  I  mustn't  say  them,  you 
mustn't  provoke  them. " 

"But  how  do  I  provoke  them?"  she  asked 
innocently. 

"Look  in  your  mirror  for  the  answer,"  he  said. 

To  his  surprise,  his  glance  found  her  face  clouded. 


262  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Is  it  always  to  be  that?"  she  said,  half  to 
herself.  "Will  no  one  ever  like  me  for  anything 
but  the  outside  me?  " 

He  responded  instantly  to  her  change  of  mood. 
In  some  ways,  he  was  as  intuitive  as  a  woman. 

"The  outward  you  is  the  lovely  inevitable 
expression  of  the  inward  you,"  he  said  quickly. 
"They  are  indivisible.  He  who  loves  one  must  of 
necessity  love  the  other. 

"I  was  not  talking  of  love,"  she  answered, 
leaning  her  chin  on  her  hand. 

"Were  you  not?  Like  is  a  cold  word.  It  has 
no  colour."  Cosmo  embarked  once  more  upon 
his  favourite  pastime  of  playing  with  fire. 

Deep  down  in  Titian's  heart,  something  stirred, 
something  which  sounded  a  warning  to  her  to  keep 
the  game  on  the  level  of  a  game.  One  might  play 
earnestly,  even  seriously,  so  long  as  one  remembered 
that  it  was  but  a  game,  but  danger  lay  in  the 
chance  of  forgetting  that  it  was  only  play. 

Her  womanhood  turned  in  its  sleep.  There  was 
a  fuller  note  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke,  a  note 
which  only  sounded  when  she  was  moved.  She  put 
aside  his  counters  with  a  gesture. 

"We  will  not  talk  of  love,  if  you  don't  mind," 
she  said  gently.  "Love  is  too  big  a  thing  to  be 
laughed  at." 


Love  Without  Wings  263 

"I  am  too  good  an  amorist  to  laugh  at  love," 
he  began.  Then  he  stopped  abruptly  as  he  met  a 
dawning  question  in  her  eyes. 

Seeing  that  something  in  his  phrase  had  jarred, 
he  hastened  to  efface  the  impression. 

"I  have  brought  you  an  unworthy  offering," 
he  said,  going  back  into  the  sitting-room  and 
returning  with  a  parcel,  which  he  put  into  her 
hands.  "You  honoured  me  before  by  promising 
to  accept  it. " 

He  cut  the  string  and  left  her  the  pleasure  of 
opening  it.  The  unfolding  paper  revealed  two 
little  volumes  printed  on  thin  paper  and  beautifully 
bound  in  deep  green  leather  tooled  with  a  design 
of  pomegranates. 

Titian  gave  an  exclamation  of  pleasure. 

"You  like  them?"  he  asked.  "I  did  not  need 
to  have  them  specially  bound  after  all.  By  the 
greatest  good  fortune,  I  came  across  them  in  a  shop 
this  morning." 

The  Letters  of  Robert  and  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning.  As  Titian's  fingers  caressed  the  smooth- 
ness of  the  leather,  her  thoughts  flew  back  to 
Fenton's  comment  on  this  very  book. 

"Those  two  knew  what  a  big  thing  Love  is," 
continued  Cosmo  softly. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  still  thinking. 


264  The  Torch  of  Life 

"There  are  latitudes  in  Love,"  he  pursued  ten- 
tatively. "There  are  the  warm  valleys  as  well  as 
the  mountain  peaks.  It  is  not  given  to  all  to 
attain  the  heights.  I  was  lucky  to  find  these 
already  bound  in  green." 

"Why?" 

"I  wanted  to  have  them  bound  in  green  to 
match  this," — he  touched  her  emerald  ring  and 
with  it  her  finger — "and  this."  He  took  the 
plaque  in  his  hand  and  kept  it  there.  "Also  I 
wanted  to  see  a  green  book  in  your  white  hands. " 

"Did  you?" 

It  was  the  sort  of  thing  which  Arnot  might  have 
said.  A  colour  scheme  which  he  might  have 
evolved  for  his  own  sybaritic  pleasure.  For  an 
instant  her  soul  quailed  within  her.  Her  bitter 
knowledge  of  Arnot  threw  a  searchlight  on  his 
type.  Were  all  men  like  that,  mere  worshippers 
of  the  beautiful  external?  Pain  mingled  with 
her  pleasure. 

She  felt  the  faintest  pull  at  the  platinum  chain. 
Cosmo  had  drawn  it  to  its  fullest  length.  She  felt 
as  if  he  were  slowly,  slowly  drawing  her  to  him  by  a 
thinner,  less  palpable  chain.  Their  eyes  met.  His 
look  confused  her.  Her  qualms  melted  beneath 
it  to  give  place  to  a  sweeter  troubling. 

She  ran  her  fingers  along  the  chain  until  they 


Love  Without  Wings  265 

reached  the  emerald  plaque  and  touched  his, 
trembling  slightly. 

"Please,"  she  said  softly,  looking  away  from 
him. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  answering  her  averted 
look  rather  than  her  word.  He  drew  a  long 
breath  that  was  half  a  sigh  as  he  released  the 
chain. 

"  I  must  go, "  he  exclaimed,  as  one  who  makes  a 
sudden  and  necessary  resolution. 

"Why?" 

"Because  the  Wine  of  Life  might  prove  too 
strong  for  me  if  I  stayed,"  he  answered,  taking 
her  hand  in  his. 

"Good-bye,  then,  and  thank  you  for  these." 
She  touched  the  green  books  in  her  lap. 

"Not  good-bye.  A  rivederci,"  he  murmured, 
kissing  the  hand  he  held. 

Turning  abruptly  from  the  sunshine  to  the 
comparative  dusk  of  the  room  inside,  he  almost 
collided  with  Toye,  who  was  coming  in. 

"Why,  Cosmo,  is  that  you?"  she  cried,  survey- 
ing him  keenly.  "  You  seem  to  be  in  a  great  hurry. 
Did  you  see  me  coming  and  think  you  would 
escape  before  I  saw  you  or  what?" 

"What!"  said  Cosmo  shortly.  He  had  the 
uncomfortable  feeling  of  a  child  who  is  caught. 


266  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I  suppose  you  were  trying  to  console  Mrs. 
Fleury  for  the  loss  of  Fenty.  The  same  laudable 
idea  occurred  to  me.  We  must  be  twin  souls, 
my  Cossie. " 

"I  thought  that  I  had  told  you  not  to  call  me 
that." 

"Asked  would  be  a  better  word.  What  shall  I 
call  you,  then?  Cosmo  mio?" 

"Anything  but  that  odious  diminutive." 

4 '  Cosmo  mio, ' '  she  repeated.  ' '  That  would  be  a 
good  thing  to  say  before  you  were  photographed. 
Try  it.  Say  it  very  quickly.  Cosmo  mio,  Osmo 
mio,  Smo  mio,  Mo  mio,  Mio,  lo,  O!" 

Cosmo  muttered  something  inaudible. 

"It  would  leave  your  mouth  quite  a  pretty 
shape.  Quite  kissable,  eh  Cossie?  I  think  I'll 
teach  it  to  Mrs.  Fleury.  I'm  sure  she'd  look  per- 
fectly adorable  after  saying  Cosmo  mio — "  She 
rattled  off  the  inane  string  again,  pursing  her  own 
mouth  at  the  "O!" 

"You  little  devil!"  murmured  Cosmo  politely, 
evading  her  pirouetting  form  and  making  his 
escape. 

"What  are  you  going  to  teach  me?"  asked 
Titian,  coming  in  from  the  balcony. 

"I  was  only  teasing  Cosmo,"  laughed  Toye. 
"He  took  it  very  badly.  I  suppose  the  sudden 


Love  Without  Wings  267 

contrast  between  you  and  me  was  too  much  for 
him.  You  never  tease  him,  do  you,  Mrs.  Fleury ?  " 

"I  don't  think  that  teasing  is  my  mStier," 
returned  Titian.  "Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"Thanks.  I  will  for  a  moment.  I  found  that 
mother  had  written  a  letter  to  you,  and  as  I  was 
in  an  energetic  mood  I  volunteered  to  bring  it 
and  save  her  a  penny,  or  is  it  a  half -penny  here  in 
Venice?  It's  only  some  old  address  or  other  which 
she  forgot  to  give  you  last  night. " 

Titian  took  the  letter.  "Thanks.  It  was  good 
of  you  to  bring  it. " 

"Wasn't  it,  very?"  Toye  wrinkled  up  her 
nose.  "I'm  an  obliging  little  darling,  aren't  I? 
When  are  you  coming  to  take  lessons  in  the  tango, 
Mrs.  Fleury?  Cosmo  and  I  are  burning  to  teach 
you." 

Cosmo  and  I !     She  was  being  thrust  out  again. 

Her  fingers  sought  the  emerald  plaque  and 
caressed  it  secretly.  After  all,  she  had  her  own 
magic  circle — a  circle  of  sunlight  and  moonlight. 
It  was  Toye  who  had  only  the  lamplight  one. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  sufficient  energy  to  learn. " 

"We  made  Miss  Gerard's  hair  stand  on  end 
last  night,"  Toye  chuckled.  "It  wasn't  disap- 
proval, was  it,  that  made  you  lure  Fenty  out  on 
the  balcony?" 


268  The  Torch  of  Life 

"It  was  Fenty  who  lured  me, "  answered  Titian 
calmly. 

"  One  to  you,  Mrs.  Fleury.  Poor  old  Fenty,  one 
quite  misses  him. " 

"I  thought  you  detested  him." 

"I'm  an  adept  at  concealing  my  feelings, 
aren't  I?  Fenty  and  I  may  dissemble  our  love, 
but  we've  quite  a  sneaking  regard  for  each  other 
all  the  same.  Fenty  is  a  jolly  long  sight  the  best 
man  I  know." 

"I  thought  that  you  considered  all  good  men 
fools." 

"  So  they  are,  but  that  doesn't  detract  from  their 
goodness.  It  makes  them  a  little  duller  perhaps, 
but,  Lord!  excitement  isn't  everything." 

"Isn't  it?" 

"It  means  a  lot  to  you  just  now,  doesn't  it, 
Mrs.  Fleury  ? ' '  Toye  countered  shrewdly.  ' '  Fenty 
managed  to  pack  most  of  his  into  his  early  life. " 

"Did  he?" 

"  His  wife  has  been  in  a  lunatic  asylum  for  years, 
a  private  one  of  course,  but  it's  all  the  same.  She 
was  a  hopeless  dipsomaniac.  Her  people  knew  it 
and  they  let  Fenty  marry  her.  He  was  only  a  boy, 
twenty-two,  and  she  was  years  older.  They  were 
glad  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  took  advantage  of  his 
boyish  infatuation." 


Love  Without  Wings  269 

"Do  you  think  that  Fenton  would  like  you  to 
tell  me  this?" 

"Why  not?  There's  no  secret  about  it.  I 
wonder  he  didn't  tell  you  himself.  She's  dying 
now,  thank  goodness!  Didn't  Fenty  mention  it 
to  you  last  night?" 

"No,"  Titian  answered,  rising  abruptly.  Her 
action  was  meant  as  a  dismissal.  For  the  mo- 
ment, she  felt  that  she  did  not  care  whether  she 
were  rude  or  not.  She  only  knew  that  she  could 
not  stand  Toye's  presence  any  longer. 

Toye  rose  too,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  must  be  off,"  she  said.  Her  green  eyes 
twinkled  maliciously.  "I  only  hope  that  the 
wretched  Adela  won't  be  like  Charles  the  First,  or 
Cromwell,  or  Thomas  a  Becket,  or  whoever  it 
was  who  had  to  apologise  because  he  took  so  long 
in  dying.  I  want  poor  old  Fenty  to  have  a  little 
happiness  before  my  own  grey  hairs  go  down  in 
sorrow  to  the  grave. " 

Titian  looked  at  the  girl  searchingly  for  an 
instant. 

"You  think  Fenton  isn't  happy?" 

"Did  he  look  happy  last  night?" 

Titian  thought  of  his  worn  face,  his  sad  mouth, 
and  shook  her  head.  "What  happiness  do  you 
wish  for  him?" 


270  The  Torch  of  Life 

"A  real  wife  and  a  real  home  of  his  own, "  Toye 
returned.  "Not  startlingly  original,  eh?" 

"No,"  Titian  answered. 

A  vision  of  Fenton's  face  when  he  had  told  her 
that  Camus  was  his  only  home  flashed  before  her. 
Some  perception  of  what  his  life  must  have  meant 
to  a  home-loving  man  smote  her  to  silence.  She 
wished  that  Toye  would  go.  She  wanted  to  be 
alone  with  her  thoughts.  Life  had  quickened 
in  her  to-day.  It  was  a  good  world  after  all.  A 
world  in  which  one  might  always  keep  a  light 
burning  for  a  friend.  A  world  in  which  one  must 
always  play  the  game. 

When  Toye  had  gone,  she  left  an  atmosphere  of 
unrest  behind  her.  Titian  went  back  to  the  bal- 
cony, lifted  Cosmo's  books  from  the  chair  and  sat 
down  with  them  in  her  lap. 

Her  words  to  him  rang  in  her  ears. 

"  Love  is  too  big  a  thing  to  laugh  at. " 

How  did  she  know  that?  Who  had  taught  her 
that  crude  expression  of  an  elemental  truth?  She 
had  not  learned  it  from  Arnot's  feeling  for  her 
nor  from  hers  for  him.  His  passion  had  been  too 
earth-bound  to  wander  from  the  warm  valleys; 
hers  too  feeble  to  climb  far  by  itself. 

It  was  not  from  Cosmo  that  she  had  learned  it 
either.  He  attracted  her  strongly.  There  was  a 


Love  Without  Wings  271 

magnetism  about  him.  He  made  her  feel  his 

presence,  but .  He  had  called  himself  an 

amorist.  Amorist!  That  meant  a  lover,  not  of 
one  but  of  many.  Her  brows  drew  together  at 
the  thought.  It  was  distinctly  unpleasing. 

Of  all  the  men  whom  she  knew  there  remained 
only  Fenton.  How  could  he  have  taught  her 
anything  of  the  inner  meaning  of  love?  The 
only  love  of  his  of  which  she  was  aware  had  been 
called  a  boyish  infatuation.  That  belonged  to 
love  in  the  caterpillar  stage.  It  certainly  was 
love  without  wings. 

Love  with  Wings! 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  Some  deeper  instinct 
told  her  that  of  those  whom  she  had  passed  in 
review  Fenton  was  the  only  one  who  really  knew 
what  winged  Love — Love  Triumphant — might 
mean. 

Dear  Fenty!  She  hoped  that  some  day  he 
would  find  a  woman  who  would  be  able  to  mount 
to  the  heights  with  him,  who  would  not  want  to 
clip  the  wings  of  his  love.  But  did  she?  What 
woman  would  be  good  enough  for  Fenty?  He  had 
said  that  he  knew  only  two,  and  she  was  one. 

After  a  little,  she  opened  the  book  and  began 
to  read.  The  phrases  were  glowing,  intimate, 
purely  personal. 


272  The  Torch  of  Life 

A  flood  of  colour  flamed  over  face  and  throat. 
Suddenly  she  realised  what  Fenty  had  meant. 
She  felt  as  if  she  were  doing  a  dishonourable  act, 
and  closed  the  book  hastily. 

"They  should  have  been  kept  sacred,"  she  said. 

She  rose  and  locked  the  two  little  volumes  away. 


BOOK  III 
CHAPTER  I 

MISS  GERARD  IS  ANGRY 

again  after  what  seemed  to  Titian 
a  veritable  Odyssey. 

She  felt  a  strife  of  pain  and  pleasure  within 
her  when  she  caught  sight  of  its  old  grey  walls 
through  the  wind-shaven  trees  of  the  avenue. 

The  Virginia  creeper  was  in  full  leaf  now  and 
hung  in  tapering  trails  of  deep  green  over  wall  and 
courtyard.  The  memory  of  her  first  homecoming 
came  sharply  back  to  her.  This  time  it  was  Miss 
Gerard  who  sat  beside  her,  and  not  her  mother. 
This  time  she  drove  in  the  motor-car,  not  in  the 
carriage.  This  time  there  was  no  big  kindly  figure 
waiting  to  welcome  her  on  the  steps. 

The  sunshine  seemed  paler,  less  radiant  than 

the  Southern  brilliance  which  she  had  left  behind 

her.     The  first  freshness  of  summer  had  left  the 

trees.     They  looked  dark,  and  of  a  uniform  sombre 

'8  273 


274  The  Torch  of  Life 

green,  unbroken  by  any  feathery  spring  lightness. 

The  place  seemed  empty,  lifeless.  There  was 
no  one  to  greet  them,  no  one,  apparently,  to  mark 
their  coming. 

Titian  felt  a  waft  of  unutterable  loneliness  as  the 
car  drew  up  before  the  silent  house. 

As  if  a  spell  had  been  broken,  the  place  seemed 
suddenly  to  come  to  life. 

Mrs.  Brooke,  the  portly  housekeeper,  bustled 
forth  upon  the  steps,  servants  became  visible,  and 
like  a  ruddy  flash  Rufus  bounded  to  meet  her, 
crouching  his  silken  length  upon  the  ground  and 
springing  upwards  to  lick  her  cheek  in  ecstasy. 

In  the  hall,  Bibi  arched  a  soft  grey  back  and 
raised  a  plumy  tail  in  greeting. 

"Your  train  must  have  been  up  to  time, 
ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Brooke,  "or  else  Smith  must 
have  driven  very  quickly.  I  asked  him  to  sound 
the  horn  so  that  we  might  know  when  you  were 
coming." 

"I  suppose  he  forgot.  It  doesn't  matter," 
said  Titian,  looking  with  new  eyes  at  her  old 
surroundings. 

"Those  chauffeurs  are  all  the  same,  ma'am," 
Mrs.  Brooke  continued,  lowering  her  voice  con- 
fidentially. "A  stuck-up  lot,  thinking  of  nothing 
but  themselves. " 


Miss  Gerard  is  Angry  275 

Titian  laughed.  "Is  there  any  news,  Mrs 
Brooke?" 

"Mr.  Mede  was  here  yesterday  to  see  that 
everything  was  in  order.  He's  making  great 
improvements  in  the  village,  under  your  instruc- 
tions, ma'am." 

"Under  my  instructions?" 

"So  he  says,  ma'am,  and  indeed  the  people  are 
very  grateful.  He  desired  me  to  say  to  you  that 
he  was  very  sorry  not  to  be  here  to  welcome  you 
to-day,  but  he  was  called  away  on  business  last 
night  and  was  not  sure  when  he  would  be  back. 
He  said  he  would  be  over  the  first  moment  he 
could." 

Titian  felt  a  little  glow.  So  Fenton  had  not 
forgotten  after  all.  She  wondered  if  the  business 
were  in  connection  with  his  poor  mad  wife.  It 
was  just  like  Fenty  to  think  of  her  comfort  in  the 
midst  of  his  own  trouble.  She  wished  that  she 
had  been  nicer  to  him  in  Venice. 

"  I've  ordered  tea  in  your  sitting-room,  ma'am, " 
continued  Mrs.  Brooke.  "I  thought  it  would  be 
more  cosy  there  than  in  the  big  drawing-room. " 

"Quite  right.  I  shall  be  glad  of  a  cup  of  tea, 
won't  you,  Miss  Em?" 

"I  won't  say  'no  'to  it,  at  any  rate,"  said  Miss 
Gerard,  unpinning  her  motor  veil. 


276  The  Torch  of  Life 

"There  are  letters  for  you  and  Miss  Gerard  in 
the  sitting-room,  ma'am." 

"Letters!  That  sounds  exciting,"  said  Titian, 
moving  quickly  in  the  direction  of  her  room. 

As  she  stood  upon  its  threshold,  and  saw  its 
unfamiliar  familiarity,  she  had  the  feeling  of  one 
who  is  looking  for  the  first  time  with  waking  eyes 
at  a  place  seen  hitherto  in  dreams. 

This  room,  with  its  soft  strange  colours,  its 
burnt-rose  and  pale  yellow,  its  rich  brown  carvings, 
had  this  really  been  the  setting  of  so  many  hours 
of  unhappiness,  of  lonely  wonderings,  of  restless 
rebellions  against  Fate? 

It  seemed  to  belong  to  a  past  that  was  remote 
yet  ever  present. 

With  a  little  sigh  she  moved  towards  the  mantel- 
piece and  took  up  the  letters. 

"Two  for  me  and  one  for  you,  Miss  Em,"  she 
said.  "Let's  open  them  and  see  if  they  contain 
anything  exciting." 

As  she  spoke  she  thought  of  Toye's  words,  and 
wondered  if  excitement  did  still  mean  much  to  her. 
Excitement.  Pleasure.  The  feeling  of  the  pulse 
of  life.  She  had  not  experienced  any  in  full  mea- 
sure since  she  had  left  Venice ;  drifting  homewards 
by  easy  stages,  lingering  where  the  fancy  took  her, 
her  wanderings  had  been  unfraught  with  glamour. 


Miss  Gerard  is  Angry  277 

The  very  mention  of  departure  had  seemed  first 
to  shake  and  then  to  break  up  their  pleasant  party 
at  Venice.  She  had  only  seen  Cosmo  Trevor  once 
alone  after  that  hour  on  the  balcony — an  unfor- 
gettable night,  when  they  had  gone  out  in  a  gon- 
dola to  hear  the  singers,  when  the  pale  girl  with 
red  lips  had  closed  her  eyes  and  sung  of  love  as  the 
nightingale  might,  when  Cosmo  had  taken  her 
hand  in  his  and  held  it  unrebuked.  That  had  been 
the  night  before  his  departure.  The  memory  of 
it  still  gave  her  a  little  thrill. 

Yes,  that  had  meant  excitement,  but  had  it 
meant  anything  more?  She  did  not  care  to  probe 
too  closely.  She  was  content  to  drift  for  a  while. 

As  she  took  her  letters,  she  saw,  with  a  quick 
pulse  of  pleasure,  that  one  of  them  was  from  him. 
The  handwriting  on  the  other  was  unfamiliar. 

She  opened  it  first,  keeping,  like  a  child,  "the 
best  for  the  last." 

It  was  from  Lady  Tempest,  a  few  warm  lines 
to  welcome  her  home  and  to  remind  her  of  her 
promise  to  stay  with  them. 

"We  hope  to  see  you  the  first  week  in  August, " 
she  wrote.  "Of  course,  the  invitation  includes 
Miss  Gerard  too.  Hugh  is  ever  so  much  better, 
I  am  thankful  to  say.  He  has  been  a  different  man 
since  we  came  home.  This  is  a  great  crow  for 


278  The  Torch  of  Life 

Toye,  who  was  always  against  our  going  abroad, 
but  I  don't  mind  anything  so  long  as  he  gets  well 
again.  We  are  looking  forward  so  much  to  seeing 
you  both. " 

Titian  read  these  sentences  aloud  to  Miss  Gerard, 
who  was  sitting  bolt  upright  in  a  chair  with  a 
straight  carved  back.  Her  eyes  were  very  bright 
and  her  fixed  colour  had  deepened.  She  glanced 
to  and  from  her  own  letter  in  a  way  which  showed 
unusual  perplexity. 

"It's  very  kind  of  them,  I'm  sure,"  she  said  at 
last,  "but  I  cannot  go." 

"You  can't  go?    Why,  Miss  Em?" 

"I'm  very  angry,"  she  blurted  out. 

"Why,  dear  Miss  Em?  What  has  upset  you? 
Can  I  do  anything  to  help?" 

"I'm  afraid  you  can't,"  said  Miss  Gerard,  with 
a  half  rueful  laugh.  "That  wretched  Baldwin 
is  going  to  have  a  baby." 

"Baldwin !     Your  brother? " 

"Well,  his  wife.  They're  both  responsible. 
What  does  it  matter?  What  on  earth  does  Bald- 
win want  to  start  a  family  for  at  his  time  of  life? 
Why,  he'll  be  more  like  the  child's  grandfather 
than  its  father!" 

"Oh,  Miss  Em!" 

"You  may  well  say,  'Oh,  Miss  Em!'" 


Miss  Gerard  is  Angry  279 

"Perhaps — perhaps  the  mother  wants  it  very 
badly, "  suggested  Titian. 

"Perhaps  so,  indeed,"  sniffed  Miss  Gerard. 
"They've  lost  no  time,  I  must  say,  with  then- 
Greek  epigrams ! ' ' 

Titian  went  over  to  her  perturbed  friend,  and 
putting  her  arm  round  her  shoulder,  laid  a  soft 
cheek  against  hers. 

"Do  be  nice  and  human  about  it,  Miss  Em. 
Don't  think  harshly  of  the  new  little  soul  that's 
coming  into  the  world.  I've  always  felt  dreadfully 
sorry  for  unwanted  babies.  It  seems  so  cruel 

somehow,  when  there  are  so  many  who 

You'll  be  quite  proud  to  have  a  tiny  niece  or 
nephew  of  your  own." 

"No,  I  won't,  Titian,  and,  what's  more,  you're 
not  going  to  cajole  me  into  thinking  so. " 

"You  won't  need  any  cajoling, "  Titian  went  on 
with  soft  persistence.  "You  are  always  good  to 
young  things.  I  remember  how  good  you  were  to 
me  when  I  was  little." 

"Ah,  that  was  different.  You  were  a  most  en- 
gaging child.  I  can't  believe  that  that — Gwen- 
doline could  have  an  engaging  child. " 

"  But  it  will  be  your  brother's  as  well.  It  will  be 
your  own  flesh  and  blood,  Miss  Em.  Think  of 
that." 


280  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I  do  think  of  that,  my  dear.  The  more  I 
think  of  it,  the  more  it  is  borne  in  upon  me  what 
a  plain  man  Baldwin  is!" 

"But  it  may  be  like  you. " 

"That's  going  too  far.  Be.  off  with  you,"  said 
Miss  Em,  giving  Titian's  cheek  a  resounding  kiss. 
"I  have  no  delusions  about  my  appearance,  I 
assure  you.  Nor  Baldwin's  either. " 

"But  what  has  this  to  do  with  your  refusing  the 
Tempests'  invitation?"  asked  Titian,  going  back  to 
the  couch  on  which  Bibi  lay  spread  flat  as  a  muff, 
while  Rufus,  who  had  followed  her,  sat  on  the  floor 
again  at  her  feet,  beating  the  ground  with  feathery 
tail. 

"I  thought  I  had  explained.  That — ere  ture 
is  puny  and  delicate  and  evidently  is  unable  to 
look  after  the  house  properly.  Could  she  ever 
do  it,  I  wonder?  She's  not  even  capable  of 
having  a  baby  without  whining  and  pining  about 
it!  Reading  between  the  lines  of  Baldwin's 
letter  I  can  see  the  state  of  filth  and  discom- 
fort everything  is  in.  He  wants  to  know  if 
I  will  go  and  stay  with  them  for  a  while  to 
help  to  look  after  things  until — Gwendoline — is 
stronger. 

Every  mention  of  her  sister-in-law's  name  was 
accentuated  by  a  sniff. 


Miss  Gerard  is  Angry  281 

Titian's  face  fell.  She  did  not  want  to  lose  her 
companion  now. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  that  will  be,  Miss  Em?  " 
she  asked,  rather  ruefully. 

Miss  Gerard  took  up  the  letter  and  referred  to 
its  opening  passage : 

"You  will  no  doubt  be  much  interested  to  hear 
that  my  dear  Gwendoline  hopes  to  become  a 
mother  in  September. " 

"In  September.  That's  two  months  off,  and 
they  weren't  married  till  the  end  of  October!" 
she  said.  "I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go.  I" —  she 
looked  away  towards  the  window — "I  don't  like 
to  think  of  Baldwin  in  dirt  and  discomfort.  He 
never  was  used  to  it. " 

"Perhaps  things  aren't  as  bad  as  you  think." 

"They're  probably  much  worse,"  said  Miss 
Gerard,  pessimistically.  "And  I  had  trained 
Annie  so  nicely."  Then  she  turned  to  Titian 
again,  with  a  melancholy  cheerfulness.  "After 
all,  I  needn't  leave  until  you  go  to  the  Tem- 
pests." 

"Oh,  no,  please  don't,  Miss  Em,  if  you  can  pos- 
sibly manage  it,"  Titian  pleaded. 

Miss  Gerard  rose  and  put  a  bony  hand  on  her 
shoulder. 

"It  would  be  a  hard  thing  that  I  couldn't  man- 


282  The  Torch  of  Life 

age  to  do  to  please  you, "  she  said,  her  face  working 
a  little.  "I'm  very  fond  of  you,  child. " 

Then  she  hurried  from  the  room  as  if  ashamed  of 
her  emotional  outburst. 

When  she  had  gone,  Titian  took  up  Cosmo's 
letter  and  opened  it  with  a  little  smile  on  her  lips. 

It,  too,  was  meant  as  a  welcome  home,  and  said 
in  scented  phrases  how  much  he  had  missed  her 
gracious  companionship,  how  much  he  looked  for- 
ward to  renewing  it  when  she  came  to  Craven,  how 
there  had  been  no  moon  in  his  sky  since  he  left 
Venice,  how  on  that  last  night  there  he  had  scarcely 
envied  Endymion. 

Prettily  passionate,  tenderly  sentimental,  it 
roused  within  her  the  same  sense  of  excitement  that 
his  presence  always  evoked. 

"It's  very  delightful,  but  how  much  of  it  is  only 
words,  I  wonder?"  she  said  to  herself,  laughing 
softly  as  she  put  the  letter  away. 

Upstairs  there  was  a  sense  of  chill  loneliness. 
It  was  strange  not  to  feel  Arnot's  personality 
pervading  the  place,  as  it  had  always  done,  despite 
his  seclusion.  A  silence  lay  tangibly  about  the 
corridors.  The  soft  carpets  stole  the  sound  of  her 
footsteps,  yet  instinctively  she  walked  on  tiptoe 
as  one  who  fears  to  awaken  a  sleeper. 


Miss  Gerard  is  Angry  283 

There  was  a  certain  relief  in  not  encountering  the 
dark  form  and  pale  eyes  of  Hammond,  a  sense  as 
of  greater  freedom  now  that  his  alien  presence  was 
removed.  She  shivered  a  little  when  she. came 
across  the  foils  in  a  cupboard.  She  was  glad  that 
she  need  never  fence  with  Hammond  again. 

At  last  she  forced  herself  to  enter  Arnot's  rooms. 

They  were  bare,  chill,  neat,  and  bore  the  aspect  of 
callous  tidiness,  of  almost  menacing  emptiness,  that 
rooms  are  wont  to  assume  when  one  who  has  occu- 
pied them  for  long  has  gone  from  them  for  ever. 

She  sat  down  by  the  couch,  whose  silken  coverlet 
was  now  folded  in  a  flat  square.  There,  where  she 
had  spent  fugitive  moments  of  happiness,  of  rage, 
of  despair,  a  flood  of  understanding  swept  over  her 
and  washed  away  those  bygone  bitternesses. 

For  the  first  time,  she  understood  something  of 
what  Arnot  had  endured.  For  the  first  time,  she 
realised  the  force  of  his  piteous  rebellion.  How 
could  she,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  joy  of  life, 
grasp  what  the  loss  of  it  had  meant  to  Arnot? 
Arnot,  who  had  snatched  with  wilful  zest  at  every 
passing  pleasure,  as  she  herself  had  wished  to 
snatch  of  late.  What  must  it  have  meant  to  him 
to  lie  here,  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  crippled 
and  tortured  with  memories  that  made  his  im- 
potence a  living  hell? 


284  The  Torch  of  Life 

As  she  sat  there,  she  blamed  her  own  pitiless 
ignorance.  If  she  had  only  known,  if  she  had  only 
understood  better,  she  might  have  been  able  to 
help  him  more.  At  any  rate,  she  might  have  been 
more  patient  with  him,  she  thought,  forgetting 
her  long  hours  of  submission  to  his  caprices. 

How  could  she  know  what  Arnot  had  lost  in  that 
fatal  accident?  By  the  exquisite  perfection  of 
his  surroundings,  by  his  passionate  admiration  of 
her  own  beauty,  she  realised  something  of  what 
the  externals  of  life  had  meant  to  him.  The  inner 
deeps  had  never  been  laid  bare  to  her.  Arnot's 
beliefs,  if  he  had  any,  had  always  been  carefully 
locked  away. 

To-day,  in  the  light  of  her  new  knowledge,  many 
things  became  clear.  Perhaps  those  little  patter- 
ing ghosts  had  haunted  Arnot  as  well  as  herself. 
She  had  never  thought  of  that.  She  suddenly 
remembered  the  kitten  episode.  Fenton  had  been 
quite  right.  She  had  not  understood.  She  did 
not  really  understand  yet,  but  she  did  not  know 
that.  She  only  regretted,  as  so  many  women  have 
regretted  before  her,  the  lost  opportunities  of 
understanding,  the  vanished  moments  of  the 
might-have-been  which  Time  had  shaken  from 
her  grasp  like  petals  scattered  by  the  wind.- 


TWO  IN  A  GARDEN 

HPWO  mornings  later,  Titian  put  on  a  shady 
*      hat  and  a  pair  of  white  gauntlet  gloves  and 
went  out  into  the  garden  to  cut  roses. 

There  was  a  fountain  with  a  broad-ledged  stone 
basin  in  one  corner.  A  clump  of  feathery  bamboos 
beside  it  sprang  lightly  towards  the  blue  of  the 
sky  and  cast  flickering  shadows  upon  the  ledge. 

Here  Titian  sat  when  she  had  filled  her  basket, 
and  here  Fenton  found  her  when  he  -came  in  search 
of  her  through  the  perfumed  ways  of  the  garden. 
She  thought,  as  she  lifted  her  head  to  see  him 
coming  along  the  path,  that  he  looked  younger  and 
more  alert  than  usual.  There  was  a  new  light 
in  his  eyes. 

She  sprang  up  to  greet  him,  a  pale  pink  bud  in 
one  hand. 

"Welcome  home,"  he  said  smiling.  "I  was 
sorry  not  to  be  here  to  greet  you  on  your 
arrival." 

285 


286  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I  missed  you,  Fenty, "  she  answered  frankly. 

"Did  you  really?"  he  asked,  slipping  the 
rosebud  from  her  fingers  and  putting  it  in  his 
buttonhole. 

She  laughed.  "It  makes  you  look  quite 
festive." 

"This  is  a  festival,"  he  said  simply.  "You've 
come  home  again." 

"Home,"  she  echoed,  "it  sounds  rather  nice,  to 
come  home. " 

"Coming  home,"  said  Fenton,  stressing  the 
noun,  "is  the  very  nicest  thing  in  the  world." 

Titian  looked  quickly  at  him.  A  warm  colour 
answered  him. 

A  home-loving  man  who  had  no  real  home,  whose 
chances  of  simple  happiness  had  been  wrecked 
when  he  was  a  boy.  Here  was  tragedy  in  the 
garden  sunshine. 

Yet  Fenton  was  no  tragic  figure.  He  sat  on  the 
broad  ledge  beside  her  talking  of  ordinary  things  in 
an  ordinary  way,  taking  up  her  roses  and  inhaling 
their  velvety  fragrance  with  pleasure,  asking  all 
sorts  of  trivial  questions  about  her  travels  and 
her  journey.  He  positively  refused  to  be  fitted 
with  a  halo  of  romance.  No  dark  cloak  of  gloom 
enwrapped  his  tweed-clad  figure.  He  was  just 
Fenty,  dear  and  reliable  as  ever. 


Two  in  a  Garden  287 

He  did  not  touch  upon  his  own  affairs,  nor  could 
she  ask  or  sympathise  until  he  did.  He  spoke  of 
hers  instead. 

"Now  that  I  have  come  home,"  Titian  said, 
"  I  want  you  to  teach  me  all  sorts  of  things. " 

"About  what?" 

"About  my  property  and  the  management  of  it. 
I  am  beginning  to  think,  Fenty,  as  you  ordered 
me,"  she  put  in  with  a  smile.  "I  want  to  know 
all  about  my  responsibilities,  and  to  undertake 
them  as  far  as  I  can." 

Fenton  bent  to  sniff  at  the  rose  in  his  buttonhole. 

"I  have  secured  an  excellent  fellow  as  agent  for 
you,  an  old  University  man  named  Trant.  He  lost 
his  own  property  through  no  fault  of  his  own. 
Then  he  tried  farming  in  Canada,  but  couldn't 
stand  the  rigours  of  the  winter  there,  so  came  home 
again  looking  for  a  job.  You'll  find  him  thor- 
oughly reliable,  Titian.  You  may  take  my  word 
for  that. " 

"I'd  take  your  word  for  anything,  Fenty," 
she  answered. 

"Thanks."    Fenton  moved  abruptly. 

"When  will  you  begin  my  lessons?" 

"What  lessons?" 

"Lessons  on  the  art  of  managing  my  property, " 
she  replied  gaily. 


288  The  Torch  of  Life 

"  Oh,  Trant  will  teach  you  all  that. " 

She  glanced  quickly  at  him.  "Don't  you  want 
to  teach  me,  Fenty?" 

"Trant  will  teach  you  as  well,  if  not  better 
than  I  should.  Don't  turn  his  head,  that's 
all." 

"Turn  his  head?"  She  drew  up  her  own 
proudly.  "  I  don't  do  that  sort  of  thing. " 

"Oh,  don't  you?    What  about  young  Trevor?" 

Her  voice  chilled.  "I'm  not  aware  of  having 
turned  Mr.  Trevor's  head." 

"Then  you  have  less  perception  than  I  gave  you 
credit  for.  His  infatuation  in  Venice  was  patent 
to  anyone  who  had  eyes  to  see, "  Fenton  said  with 
a  hard  little  laugh.  "But  then,  Master  Cosmo's 
affairs  are  always  made  very  perceptible." 

Master  Cosmo's  affairs!  His  infatuation!  A 
swift  wave  of  anger  flooded  Titian.  Really,  Fenty 
was  going  too  far. 

"I  shall  feel  very  grateful  if  you  will  let  my  pri- 
vate affairs  alone.  I  don't  interfere  with. yours." 
There  was  an  edge  on  her  voice  that  cut  her 
hearer. 

He  looked  at  her  keenly .  ' '  Your  private  affairs  ? 
Why,  child,  you're  not  serious?  I " 

"I  do  wish  you'd  let  me  alone,  Fenty,"  she 
burst  out  impulsively.  ."First  you  refuse  to  do 


Two  in  a  Garden  289 

the  one  thing  I  ask  you,  and  then  you  worry  me 
and  make  me  say  things  I  don't  mean "_, 

"You  don't  mean  them?"  he  interrupted. 

"You  know  I  don't." 

He  softened  suddenly.  "And  you  know  that 
nothing  would  induce  me  to  interfere  with  your 
private  affairs,  Titian.  Unless  you  call  my  clumsy 
chaff  on  the  subject  of  your  little  flirtation  with 
young  Trevor  interference. " 

Her  wrath  flamed  up  again.  "It's  not  a  little 
flirtation.  What  an  odious  vulgar  word!" 

"What  is  it,  then?"  The  amusement  in  his 
lazy  eyes  flicked  her. 

"It's  a — a  friendship." 

"Oh,  I  see. "  Then  he  leaned  across  and  caught 
her  wrist.  "Does  it  mean  anything  to  you — 
really?"  he  asked. 

She  met  his  gaze  with  a  little  look  of  defiance. 

"Yes,  it  does,  a  good  deal, "  she  answered. 

He  dropped  her  wrist  and  turned  away. 

"Thanks  for  being  frank." 

She  moved  uncomfortably,  half  regretting  her 
admission. 

"Apropos  of  frankness,"  she  said,  after  a  little 
sharp-edged  pause,  during  which  Fenton  whistled 
a  soundless  tune,  "Mrs.  Brooke  tells  me  that  I  am 

getting  credit  which  I  don't  deserve. " 
19 


290  The  Torch  of  Life 

"In  what  way?"  asked  Fenton  without  looking 
at  her. 

"I  am  being  praised  for  your  improvements  in 
the  village. " 

"They  are  being  done  by  your  permission, 
with  your  money.  The  late  agent,  Butcher, 
neglected  the  property  shockingly."  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  "By  the  way,  I  asked  Trant  to 
meet  me  here  at  twelve.  I  want  to  introduce 
him  to  you. " 

Titian  looked  up.  The  haze  which  had  veiled 
the  summer  blueness  of  the  sky  had  thickened  into 
clouds  which  now  hid  the  sun.  She  shivered 
slightly. 

"How  dark  it  has  got,"  she  said.  "I  think  the 
sunshine  of  Italy  has  spoiled  me  for  these  fainter 
gleams.  The  very  air  here  seems  damp. " 

"That's  from  the  sea,  of  course,"  said  Fenton. 
His  lips  closed  firmly.  The  light  had  died  out  of 
his  eyes. 

"Yes,"  answered  Titian.  She  did  not  want 
to  quarrel  with  Fenton.  He  was  her  one  real 
friend. 

She  held  out  a  sudden  olive-branch. 

"Fenty, "  she  said  in  her  most  coaxing  tones. 

' '  Yes. ' '  At  the  cooing  inflection,  Fenton  steeled 
himself. 


Two  in  a  Garden  291 

11 1  don't  want  Mr.  Trant  to  teach  me  things.  I 
want  you."  Her  lips  were  parted;  her  eyes 
melted  beseechingly  at  him. 

Fenton  paled.     "I — I'm  afraid  I  can't." 

"You  mean  you  won't, "  she  flashed  at  him. 

"Yes.     If  you  like." 

"Fenton,  I  can't  understand  you." 

"No, "  he  said,  as  once  before,  "and  I'm  afraid  I 
can't  enlighten  you." 

"Why—"  she  began. 

"  Don't, "  he  said  at  the  same  moment. 

Down  the  path,  like  a  messenger  of  Fate, 
came  a  servant  to  say  that  Mr.  Trant  was  in 
the  library. 

"Tell  him  we  are  coming,"  said  Titian  rising. 

Fenton  caught  his  breath. 

"  We !  My  God ! "  he  said  to  himself.  Then  he 
took  the  rose  from  his  buttonhole  and  threw  it  into 
the  basin  of  the  fountain. 

Titian  stopped,  feeling  hurt  in  some  inexplicable 
way. 

"Fenton,  why  did  you  do  that?" 

"The  festival  is  over, "  he  said  drily. 

She  turned  away  without  answer.  Tears  rushed 
to  her  eyes.  She  blinked  them  hastily  away.  He 
should  not  see  that  he  had  hurt  her.  They  left 
the  garden  in  silence. 


292  The  Torch  of  Life 

When  Fenton  and  Mr.  Trant  had  gone,  Titian 
went  to  her  desk  and  took  out  Cosmo  Trevor's 
letter.  Propping  her  chin  on  her  hand,  she  read  it 
through  once  more. 

It  soothed  her  wounded  pride  and  charmed  her 
as  his  presence  had  always  done.  Here  was  one 
who  never  found  fault  with  her,  who  was  touchingly 
grateful  for  her  slightest  favour. 

With  a  quick  blush,  she  recalled  the  legend  of 
Endymion  and  Diana.  He  was  audacious,  her 
minstrel.  She  must  not  let  him  grow  too  bold. 
She  must  show  him  that  his  friendship  with  her 
was  not  to  be  numbered  among  his  "little 
affairs. " 

How  prosaic  Fenton  was!  How  she  hated  his 
way  of  forcing  one  to  assertions !  It  was  almost  as 
cruel  to  pin  down  half -realised  thoughts  as  butter- 
flies! Certainly  they  lost  as  much  bloom  in  the 
process. 

She  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  towards  her  and 
began  to  write  to  Cosmo  Trevor,  but  in  a  mo- 
ment she  stopped.  She  did  not  know  this  new 
Fenton.  He  was  a  much  more  disturbing  person 
than  the  Fenton  of  former  days.  She  remem- 
bered how  she  had  compared  him  to  a  tree. 
Well,  the  tree  did  not  seem  inclined  to  shelter 
her  any  longer. 


Two  in  a  Garden  293 

She  wondered  why,  and  with  the  wonder  came 
back  the  sense  of  hurt  that  she  had  felt  when  he 
threw  the  rose  into  the  fountain. 

A  tear  splashed  down  upon  Cosmo's  letter. 


CHAPTER  III 

TOYE  ON   KISSES 

KISSING,"  Toye  Tempest  announced,  "is  a 
mere  convention. " 

She  lay  in  a  hammock  which  was  slung  from 
a  cedar  tree  on  the  lawn  at  Craven. 

Tea  was  being  prepared  under  another  cedar 
whose  branches  touched  the  branches  of  Toye's 
resting-place.  The  twin  cedars  were  the  pride  of 
Sir  Hugh's  heart. 

Cosmo  Trevor  leaned  against  the  trunk  and 
looked  at  her.  The  cheery  clink  of  cups  and  the 
stir  beneath  the  other  tree  seemed  to  accentuate 
their  pleasant  sense  of  isolation. 

The  day  was  sultry  and  the  shade  of  the  cedar 
was  grateful.  Toye  waved  a  walnut-branch  to 
keep  away  the  midges.  Its  spicy  odour  was  wafted 
on  the  warm  air  towards  Cosmo. 

"If  you  give  me  one  of  your  superfluous  cush- 
ions," he  said,  "I  will  compose  myself  in  comfort 
to  listen  to  your  dissertation  on  the  subject. " 

294 


Toye  on  Kisses  295 

"  Here,  then, "  cried  Toye,  pulling  out  a  cushion 
from  behind  her  and  throwing  it  at  him.  "Give 
me  a  cigarette  before  you  sit  down,  and  then  place 
yourself  where  I  can  see  you.  You're  a  thing  of 
beauty,  to-day,  Cosmo,  with  your  heliotrope  socks 
and  tie!  I've  completed  the  picture  with  that 
purple  cushion." 

Cosmo  sat  on  the  ground  and  looked  at  her. 
There  was  never  any  fear  of  boredom  in  Toye's 
company.  She  was  wilful,  provocative,  sometimes 
even  maddening,  but  she  was  never  dull. 

"You  must  possess  your  soul  in  patience  for  at 
least  another  half -hour,  my  poor  young  friend," 
she  continued.  "Her  train  is  not  due  until  four, 
and  fat  Rollo  takes  from  twenty  minutes  to  half 
an  hour  to  amble  here  from  the  station.  Have 
you  kissed  her  yet,  Cossie?" 

Cosmo  looked  at  her. 

Toye  laughed  and  waved  her  cigarette.  "As  I 
remarked  before,  kissing  is  a  mere  matter  of  con- 
vention. Some  women  do  it  and  some — don't. 
To  some,  it  means  as  little  as  drinking  a  cup  of 
tea,  a  pleasant  and  harmless  stimulant.  To  some, 
it  is  a  sort  of  all  or  nothing. " 

"  Pray  continue.     This  is  highly  instructive. " 

"The  verb  to  kiss  is  as  encyclopaedic  in  its 
meaning  as  the  verb  to  love.  The  one  poor  word 


296  The  Torch  of  Life 

has  to  do  duty  for  ever  so  many  sensations.  It's 
like  the  one  good  black  dress  of  the  poor  relation 
which  has  to  serve  for  both  day  and  evening  wear, 
with  little  alterations. " 

"Expound,  please,"  said  Cosmo. 

"There's  the  daily  family  kiss,  for  instance,  as 
stodgy  and  uninteresting  as  a  currant  bun.  Then 
there's  the  forced  relationy  kiss.  That's  like — 
like  cabbage  in  aspic!" 

"But  one  doesn't  put  cabbage  in  aspic." 

"That's  my  point.  It's  a  callous  travesty  of 
something  good.  Then  there  are  other  kisses, 
the  meringues  of  flirtation  without  any  cream 
inside!  And  then — there's  the  real  thing.  So 
much  for  kisses.  As  for  the  kissees,  as  I  said  before, 
they  resolve  themselves  into  two  classes,  those 
who  allow  it  and  those  who  don't. " 

"To  what  category  do  you  belong?" 

"Which  do  you  think?" 

"Upon  my  word  I  don't  know.  You're  an 
enigma  to  me,  Toye. " 

"How  unwise  of  you  to  admit  it!  I  shall  be 
vainer  than  ever.  But  it's  really  all  right,  Cossie. 
She's  very  simple  and  easily  taken  in.  She  will 
never  see  through  you  as  I  do. " 

"Toye,  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't. " 

"Wouldn't  what?" 


Toye  on  Kisses  297 

"Chaff  so  about  Mrs.  Fleury." 

"Why,  Cossie?     Does  it  hurt?" 

"N— no,  but  it  jars." 

A  silence  fell,  during  which  Toye  took  up  her 
walnut  fan,  and  waved  it  to  and  fro.  Cosmo 
lit  another  cigarette.  Presently  he  turned  to 
her  again 

"Do  you  think  that  Fenton  cares  for  her?"  he 
asked. 

Toye  tried  to  read  his  face  in  a  swift  scrutiny 
before  she  answered.  She  did  not  want  to  stimu- 
late his  interest  in  Titian  by  the  mention  of  a 
possible  rival. 

"How  should  I  know?"  she  returned  carelessly. 
"Men  generally  admire  that  large  soft  type  of 
woman." 

"But  I  mean  more  than  admiration." 

"You'd  better  ask  him,  Cossie.  Fenty  is  so 
communicative  that  I'm  sure  he  will  be  only  too 
delighted  to  give  you  all  possible  information  on 
the  subject."  Her  laughter  tinkled  gaily. 

Cosmo  moved  impatiently.  She  waved  the 
walnut-branch  at  him  in  aromatic  wafts. 

"What  is  it  that  makes  a  kiss  mean  anything?" 
she  said  at  last,  looking  down  at  the  branch. 

"Does  it  mean  anything  beyond  a  passing 
pleasure?" 


298  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Don't  you  know?"  Her  voice  vibrated,  and 
there  was  a  queer  glint  in  her  half-closed  eyes. 

"No,  I  don't, "  he  answered.  Something  in  the 
question  stirred  him. 

He  sprang  up  and  went  over  to  the  hammock, 
putting  a  hand  on  either  side,  and  looking  down 
at  her. 

"I  see  that,"  she  murmured. 

"By  gad,  I  believe  you  could  teach  me!" 

"By  gad,  I  believe  I  could,"  she  said,  glancing 
up  at  him  through  those  greenish  slits. 

"  Will  you,  Toye?  "  He  bent  towards  her.  His 
voice  was  eager. 

She  turned  her  head  aside.  "I'm  not  giving 
any  lessons  just  at  present,  thank  you." 

Cosmo  stooped  lower.  "Aren't  you?  Perhaps 
I'll  take  them. " 

"No,  you  won't,  Cosmo!"  she  cried  sharply. 

His  eyes  held  hers  for  an  instant.  Then  he 
raised  himself  reluctantly,  without  losing  hold  of 
the  hammock.  Never  had  he  known  Toye  to  be 
so  provocative.  Never  had  he  felt  so  strongly  the 
allure  of  the  impudent  freckled  face  so  near  his 
own.  It  was  as  if  he  saw  her  to-day  with  new 
eyes. 

.Toye  read  his  altered  look  and  laughed  up  at 
him  softly. 


Toye  on  Kisses  299 

"Oh,  Cosmo,  don't  be  silly!"  she  cried.  "I'm 
not  one  of  your  sentimental  divinities  who  expects 
to  be  made  love  to  on  all  occasions.  Do  go  and 
sit  down  on  your  pretty  purple  cushion!" 

"Damn!"  said  Cosmo  Trevor. 

"Which?  The  cushion  or  me?"  she  asked, 
swinging  her  feet  over  the  edge  of  the  hammock, 
suddenly  alert. 

He  looked  at  her.  Fire  and  anger  mingled  in 
his  glance.  Then  he  gave  a  half -rueful  laugh. 

"You  are  a  little  devil,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Yes.  Aren't  I?"  she  retorted,  using  the  ham- 
mock as  a  swing. 

A  sound  of  wheels  drew  their  relaxed  attention. 

"Here's  your  Sleeping  Beauty,  Cosmo,"  said 
Toye.  "Let's  go  and  meet  her." 

Titian  had  seen  them  from  the  moment  that  the 
carriage  had  rounded  the  curve  of  the  avenue,  and 
now  watched  them  with  a  little  pang  at  her  heart 
as  they  came  across  the  grass — two  alert  young 
figures,  careless,  happy,  and  together. 

Lady  Tempest,  who  with  old-fashioned  hospital- 
ity had  met  her  guest  at  the  railway  station, 
turned  towards  her. 

"I  see  that  tea  is  ready  under  the  cedar,"  she 
said.  "There  are  Toye  and  Cosmo  coming 
towards  us.  Shall  we  go  to  meet  them  or  would 


3oo  The  Torch  of  Life 

you  rather  rest  and  have  tea  sent  to  your 
room?" 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  Titian  answered  hastily. 
"I  am  not  a  bit  tired.  I  would  much  rather  be 
out.  I  have  been  so  much  indoors  all  my  life 
that  it  seems  to  me  to  be  a  pity  to  waste  a  fine 
moment  in  a  house. " 

"You  are  looking  even  better  than  you  did  at 
Venice,  dear." 

"Am  I?     I  suppose  it's  because  I  am  happy." 

"Happiness  is  the  best  beauty  specialist,"  said 
Lady  Tempest.  "I  should  like  to  think  that  you 
were  happy  while  you  were  with  us. " 

"I'm  sure  I  shall  be."  Titian's  pang  was  for- 
gotten in  the  pressure  of  Cosmo's  hand,  the  warm 
look  from  beneath  his  thick  lashes. 

"And  so  poor  Dad's  inamorata  could  not  come ! " 
said  Toye  in  her  clear  voice.  "I'm  sorry  for  his 
sake  that  she  is  too  much  occupied  at  present  in 
becoming  an  aunt!  For  my  own  too,  because  it 
affords  me  such  innocent  amusement  to  shock  her. 
I  wish  her  relations  had  chosen  a  more  convenient 
season  to  have  babies!" 

"My  dear  Toye!"  her  mother  murmured  in 
remonstrance,  with  a  glance  towards  Cosmo. 

"My  dear  mother!"  mimicked  Toye,  her  tones 
chilled  to  a  hard  brightness.  "I  have  never  been 


Toye  on  Kisses  301 

able  to  understand  why  it  should  be  considered 
indecent  to  refer  to  one  of  the  principal  events  of 
nature,  when  you  would  discuss  without  a  blush 
the  fact  of  your  neighbour's  wife  having  eloped 
with  her  chauffeur!" 

"There  are  many  points  on  which  we  all  require 
enlightenment,  I  daresay,"  said  Lady  Tempest, 
hastening  towards  the  shade  of  the  cedar-tree.  "  I 
am  only  surprised  to  find  that  there  is  any  ques- 
tion which  modern  girlhood  does  not  profess  to 
understand!" 

"One  to  you,  mummy,"  said  Toye,  with  her 
little  chuckle.  "And  as  for  modern  girlhood,  I 
am  a  woman  now.  Twenty-one.  Of  full  age, 
and  quite  responsible  for  my  own  actions. " 

"You  have  now  reached  the  years  of  indiscre- 
tion," put  in  Cosmo.  "And  you  seem  likely  to 
make  full  use  of  them.  Take  this  chair,  Mrs. 
Fleury.  I  know  them  all  and  this  is  quite  the 
best." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Titian  softly. 

"How  is  Fenty,  Mrs.  Fleury?"  asked  Toye, 
flinging  herself  down  on  the  grass. 

"Very  well,  indeed.  How  beautiful  it  is  here," 
she  said,  turning  to  Lady  Tempest.  "It  seems  so 
quiet  after  Camus.  One  hears  the  sea- voice  always 
there. " 


3O2  The  Torch  of  Life 

"And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound  shall  pass 
into  her  face,"  murmured  Cosmo,  in  a  tone  that 
was  intended  for  her  alone,  as  he  brought  her  tea. 

Low  as  the  murmur  was,  Toye's  lynx  ears  caught 
it.  She  pinched  his  heliotrope  ankle  as  he  passed 
her. 

"Why  do  you  never  say  those  lovely  poetical 
things  to  me,  Cossie?"  she  whispered. 

There  were  real  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  Cosmo 
was  not  so  easily  taken  in  as  Fenton  had  been.  He 
knew  Toye's  gift  of  old.  He,  like  Fenton,  had 
bought  his  experience. 

"The  only  beautiful  thing  in  nature  of  which 
you  remind  me,  Toye,  is  a  stinging-nettle,"  he 
answered. 

"How  funny!"  she  cried.  "Great  wits  jump. 
Fenty  called  me  a  nettle,  too,  that  evening  at 
Palazzo  Marin  when  he  put  me  on  the  mantel- 
piece. Do  you  remember,  Mrs.  Fleury?" 

"I  remember  very  well,  indeed. "  Titian's  eyes 
met  Cosmo's,  and  they  smiled. 

He  brought  a  chair  to  her  side. 

Toye  bit  her  lip  and  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  said  carelessly:  "You  must  really  let  me 
teach  you  to  dance,  Mrs.  Fleury.  You  will  be  here 
for  my  belated  coming-of-age  ball.  You  must 
learn  before  then!" 


Toye  on  Kisses  303 

"A  ball!"  Titian  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
with  delighted  surprise.  "Do  you  know  that  I 
was  never  at  a  ball  in  my  life?" 

"It's  time  we  remedied  that,"  said  Cosmo. 
"You  shall  have  your  first  dancing  lesson  this 
evening,  if  Lady  Tempest  will  invite  me  to  dinner. " 

Lady  Tempest  laughed.  "You  know  you're 
always  welcome,  my  dear  boy. " 

"I  wanted  to  have  a  costume  ball  of  some  sort, 
but  they  were  all  too  lazy  to  dress  up, "  Toye  con- 
tinued. "Cosmo  said  that  nothing  would  induce 
him  to  make  a  greater  fool  of  himself  than  nature 
had  done  already,  or  words  to  that  effect,  and 
Fenty  absolutely  refused  to  come  if  it  meant  fancy 
dress.  It's  too  bad.  I  wanted  to  go  as  a  candle. 
A  burning  and  a  shining  light. " 

"What  dark  places  you  would  be  able  to  illumi- 
nate!" said  Cosmo. 

"Is  Fenty  coming?"  asked  Titian  quickly. 

Toye  cast  a  side-glance  at  her. 

"  I  could  not  come  of  age  properly  if  Fenty  were 
not  there  to  see  me  sloughing  childish  things." 

"Ah,  there  are  Hugh  and  the  boys.  I  must  ask 
Saunders  to  bring  fresh  tea. " 

Lady  Tempest  rose. 

"Let  me  go,"  said  Cosmo,  rising  too. 

For   a  moment,  Toye   and   Titian   were   left 


304  The  Torch  of  Life 

alone  together,  as  the  other  two  went  across  the 
lawn. 

Toye  plucked  a  blade  of  grass  and  nibbled 
it  reflectively.  Then  she  glanced  up  again  at 
Titian. 

"I  suppose  you've  heard  that  that  wretched 
Adela  is  dead,"  she  said. 

"Who  is  Adda?" 

"Fenton's  wife." 

"Oh." 

"She  died  about  a  week  ago.  A  happy  release 
if  ever  there  was  one. " 

Titian  looked  at  the  girl.  "I  wonder  why  you 
are  so  anxious  to  tell  me  of  Fenton's  private 
affairs. " 

"I  thought  you  and  he  were  such  pals,"  she 
answered,  a  little  uncomfortably.  "This  grass  is 
delicious.  Have  you  ever  tried  it,  Mrs.  Fleury? 
It's  got  a  really  green  taste." 

"I  don't  think  I  should  care  for  things  with  a 
green  taste, "  said  Titian,  smiling.  "It  sounds  too 
Futurist  for  me.  After  all,  one  lives  in  to-day. 
What's  the  use  of  snatching  at  the  things  of 
to-morrow?" 

She  was  never  long  in  Toye's  presence  without 
feeling  as  if  the  girl  had  touched  some  bright  thing 
and  tarnished  it.  Why  should  not  Fenton  keep 


Toye  on  Kisses  3°5 

his  troubles  to  himself  if  he  wished?  There  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  tell  her  about  them.  All  the 
same,  deep  down  in  her  heart  lurked  a  little  sore 
feeling  of  resentment  at  his  withheld  confidence; 
but  she  was  determined  not  to  let  Toye  know  that. 

"How  well  your  father  is  looking,"  she  said, 
rising  to  meet  him.  "Ah,  Sir  Hugh,  I  needn't  ask 
how  you  are." 

"All  the  better  for  seeing  you  at  Craven,  my 
dear  young  lady,"  he  answered,  smiling  at  her. 
"Have  you  noticed  my  twin  cedars?  They,  too, 
are  proud  to  welcome  you.  I  assure  you  that  we 
are  not  going  to  lose  sight  of  you  in  a  hurry.  My 
sons,  come  and  be  introduced  to  the  new  cousin 
whom  we  discovered  in  Venice. " 

Titian  felt  her  sense  of  happy  well-being  return 
at  the  cordiality  of  Sir  Hugh's  greeting.  It  was 
pleasant  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  deep  welcoming 
voice.  He  looked  less  frail  too  than  amid  the 
shadows  of  the  huge  sala  at  Palazzo  Marin.  Here, 
on  his  lawn,  playing  the  host,  and  displaying  the 
beauties  of  his  immemorial  cedars,  he  was  in  the 
picture  as  he  had  not  been  there,  and  Titian's 
impulsive  heart  warmed  towards  him  anew. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MIDGES   IN  AMBER 

TT  seemed  to  Titian  as  if  she  had  really  recap- 
*     tured  her  lost  youth  in  the  time  that  followed. 

She  moved  in  an  atmosphere  of  light-hearted 
gaiety,  an  atmosphere  redolent  of  youth,  and 
mirth,  and  the  joy  of  life.  The  Tempest  boys, 
frank  and  exuberant,  were  swift  to  worship  at  her 
shrine.  They  helped  with  the  dancing  lessons, 
they  taught  her  how  to  play  tennis  and  croquet, 
they  disputed  her  favours  with  Cosmo  Trevor 
as  if  he  were  one  of  their  own  age.  They  or- 
ganised tournaments,  picnics,  fishing-parties,  and 
swept  her  along  on  the  crest  of  their  young  en- 
thusiasms. 

Titian  was  quick  in  responsive  warmth.  She 
had  never  before  tasted  the  joys  of  such  fresh 
companionship,  and  her  whole  nature  expanded  in 
its  light.  She  laughed  at  their  jokes,  and  was 
ready  to  ride,  walk,  or  play  with  them  as  they 
desired. 

306 


Midges  in  Amber  307 

Living  in  the  centre  of  the  family  life  as  she  did, 
she  seldom  saw  Cosmo  alone,  but  this  cast  no 
shadow  on  her  golden  days.  She  was  floating  on 
a  full  tide  at  present ;  she  did  not  want  to  steer  in 
any  given  direction.  Sometimes  Cosmo  snatched 
an  hour  alone  with  her  in  the  garden  at  Craven, 
whose  thick  yew  hedge  held  deep  recesses  cut  for 
seats. 

Sometimes  he  read  to  her;  sometimes  he  touched 
her  hand,  so  lightly  that  it  seemed  but  the  brushing 
wing  of  a  caress.  She  did  not  see  the  gossamer 
threads  which  Toye  had  woven  round  him;  fairy 
filaments  which  yet  were  strong  enough  to  hold 
his  hand  from  the  bolder  captures  of  Venice.  At 
all  times,  in  all  places,  his  eyes  worshipped  her 
beauty,  hymning  its  praises  to  her  until  they  were 
lost  in  the  wonder  of  her  blushes. 

If  she  were  aware  of  any  check  in  their  relations, 
it  was  with  a  pleasurable  consciousness.  The  tide 
at  Venice  had  seemed  to  verge  perilously  upon  a 
torrent.  She  had  no  desire  to  be  swept  onward  in 
its  rush.  She  was  content  to  drift ;  content  to  hold 
out  her  hands,  as  in  her  real  girlhood,  for  the 
flowers  of  these  uncounted  days;  content  to  take 
the  blossom-gifts  without  question  or  analysis  so 
long  as  the  golden  hours  were  scented  with  their 
sweetness.  Sometimes  she  wondered  if  Fenton 


308  The  Torch  of  Life 

had  quite  forgotten  her,  but  hurt  pride  quickly 
thrust  the  thought  aside. 

It  was  a  careless,  happy  time,  fragrant  with 
unforced  pleasures. 

Sometimes  in  the  evening  when  they  tired  of 
dancing,  Toye  or  Cosmo  would  sing.  It  was  al- 
ways to  her  that  Cosmo  seemed  to  sing,  whether 
his  beautiful  voice  throbbed  in  the  passion  of  To 
Anthea  or  laid  "the  heavens'  embroidered  cloths" 
beneath  her  feet  in  worship,  or  lilted  of  the  ringing 
of  love's  "bells  of  enchanted  gold."  He  was  al- 
ways her  minstrel.  Hers,  not  Toye's,  she  thought, 
with  a  throb  of  happy  pride. 

Like  an  unawakened  girl  she  desired  nothing 
more  for  the  moment.  She  was  happy.  She  did 
not  want  to  probe  for  the  why  or  the  wherefore 
while  the  uncapturable  seemed  to  be  really  within 
her  grasp. 

Sometimes  Toye's  voice  would  ring  across 
her  musings  with  poignant  sweetness,  haunting 
snatches  of  song  that  craved  and  questioned  and 
woke  wistful  echoes;  but  if  ever  their  sadness 
brought  tears  to  Titian's  eyes,  Toye  was  sure  to 
dry  them  with  quick  self-mockery  and  a  little 
trilling  laugh. 

Try  as  she  would  to  stifle  the  feeling,  the  girl 
always  jarred  on  Titian.  There  was  something 


Midges  in  Amber  309 

innately  antagonistic  in  their  temperaments. 
They  were  as  combatants  differently  armed  for 
encounter;  Titian  with  the  broadsword  of  her 
beauty,  Toye  with  the  rapier  of  her  wit.  Neither 
was  willing  to  sheath  her  unconscious  weapon  in 
the  presence  of  the  other,  and  the  flash  of  each 
wove  a  perturbing  cross-fire  of  lights. 

This  was  the  fly  in  the  amber  of  Titian's  days. 
Sometimes  it  was  almost  invisible;  at  others  a 
mere  midge;  and  midges,  she  told  herself,  without 
reckoning  upon  the  preservative  qualities  of  amber, 
were  ephemeral. 

Only  one  disturbing  incident  occurred  to  ruffle 
the  calm,  and  catch  Titian  back  into  the  whirlpool 
of  the  past. 

On  a  still,  cloudless  morning  she  sat  reading  be- 
neath the  cedar  from  which  Toye's  hammock  hung 
gaily.  The  boys  had  gone  to  play  in  a  cricket- 
match;  Cosmo  was  going  to  borrow  his  brother's 
car  and  drive  her  and  Toye  to  see  their  prowess 
in  the  afternoon,  and  for  the  moment  she  was 
absolutely  idle. 

It  was  pleasant  to  sit  under  the  cedar,  to  read 
or  dream  as  the  mood  varied ;  therefore  it  was  with 
a  smothered  sigh  of  disappointment  that  she  saw 
Toye  coming  across  the  lawn  presently. 

"Why    don't    you    try    the    hammock,    Mrs. 


310  The  Torch  of  Life 

Fleury?"  she  said  as  she  came  nearer.  "It's 
awfully  comfy,  and  I'm  sure  it  would  bear  you!" 

"I  don't  think  that  I  shall  test  it,  thanks," 
Titian  answered.  "This  chair  is  quite  comfort- 
able enough  for  me." 

"That's  Cosmo's  favourite, "  said  Toye,  slipping 
into  the  hammock,  and  tucking  up  her  feet  with  a 
swirl  of  scanty  skirts.  "  He's  as  lazy  as  a  cat,  and 
as  handsome.  Don't  you  think  he's  very  hand- 
some, Mrs.  Fleury?" 

"Yes,  he  is  good-looking,"  Titian  admitted. 
"But  what  do  looks  matter?  Handsome  men  are 
generally  rather  impossible." 

"Do  you  consider  Cosmo  impossible?" 

Titian  smiled.  "You  must  admit  that  he  is  a 
little  improbable  at  times." 

Toye  glanced  up  quickly.  "He  is  rather.  So 
am  I,  you  know.  That's  why  we  both  shock 
mother  so  much." 

"Why  do  you  take  such  a  delight  in  shocking 
your  mother?"  Titian  asked. 

"I  shock  mother  purely  for  educational  pur- 
poses," Toye  returned.  "As  long  as  you  are 
capable  of  being  shocked,  you  are  capable  of 
learning  something.  When  you  cease  to  be 
shockable,  you  cease  to  be  teachable,  and  your 
mind  begins  to  atrophy." 


Midges  in  Amber  311 

Titian  smiled.  "That's  quite  a  new  point  of 
view  to  me. " 

"Don't  you  see  its  truth,  though?  When  one 
ceases  to  be  shocked,  one  calls  one's  attitude  tol- 
erance, but  it  really  means  that  you've  seen  every- 
thing and  heard  everything  and  done  everything 
that's  worth  doing,  and  that  everything  bores  you 
now.  That's  decay.  That's  mental  atrophy.  I'd 
like  to  be  killed  by  a  flash  of  lightning  before  that 
happens  to  me.  Don't  you  think  that  would  be 
a  glorious  death,  Mrs.  Fleury?" 

"I  should  like  to  die  in  the  sun,"  Titian  be- 
gan, when  her  answer  was  checked  by  the  sight 
of  Marshall  coming  towards  her  across  the 
grass. 

Something  in  the  alert  figure,  the  mincing  steps, 
the  purposeful  air  brought  a  little  chill  of  fore- 
boding to  Titian's  heart. 

"What  is  it,  Marshall?  Anything  wrong?"  she 
asked  when  the  maid  came  nearer. 

"Nothing  wrong  at  all,  madam.  It  is  only 
this.  Hammond  is  here  and  wishes  to  know  if 
you  will  be  kind  enough  to  see  him. " 

Hammond!  At  the  mention  of  his  name,  the 
cloud  of  the  past  darkened  once  more  over  Titian. 
The  chill  deepened. 

"What  does  he  want?" 


312  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I  don't  know,  madam.  He's  very  close,  is 
Hammond.  He  only  said  he  wanted  to  see 
you." 

"Who's  Hammond?"  asked  Toye,  lazily. 

"He  was  Arnot's  man,"  Titian  answered,  turn- 
ing a  face  towards  her  from  which  all  the  brightness 
had  fled.  "I  suppose  I'd  better  go  and  see  what 
he  wants.  Where  is  he,  Marshall?" 

"In  the  small  morning-room,  madam.  Her 
ladyship  said  to  take  him  there." 

With  a  little  sigh,  Titian  rose  and  went  to  the 
house.  Her  footsteps  lagged  on  the  lawn.  She 
had  banished  Hammond  with  the  past  and  had 
hoped  that  she  need  never  see  his  sallow  face  again. 
Now  she  was  to  see  him  in  a  moment  and  with 
him  the  pictures  which  she  vainly  trusted  had  been 
blotted  out  for  ever. 

Her  stifled  years  at  Camus  rose  vividly  before 
her  as  she  came  into  the  man's  presence.  A  wave 
of  dislike  for  him  swept  over  her  as  he  bowed 
respectfully  and  placed  a  chair  for  her  in  his  old 
deft  fashion. 

"How  are  you,  Hammond?  What  can  I  do  for 
you?'"  she  asked  quietly,  curbing  her  unreason- 
able prejudice. 

"I  am  after  a  place  in  the  neighbourhood, 
madam, "  he  replied,  with  a  swift  glance  from  his 


Midges  in  Amber  313 

light  eyes.  "I  should  be  most  grateful  for  your 
kind  recommendation. " 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  recommend  you,"  she 
answered,  "if  you  think  it  necessary.  Did  I 
not  give  you  a  reference  when  you  left  Camus?" 

"Yes,  madam,  you  and  Mr.  Mede  were  both 
most  kind,  but  it  is  a  personal  recommendation 
I  would  ask  for  this  time.  Just  a  word  from  you, 
madam,  to  Mr.  Trevor  would  have  great  weight, 
I  am  sure. " 

"Mr.  Trevor?" 

"Yes,  madam.  Mr.  Cosmo  Trevor  wants  a 
man,  and  I  am  applying  for  the  post.  I  under- 
stand that  he  is  a  friend  of  the  family  here,  and 
that  a  word  from  you  would  have  great  weight. " 

Titian  flushed.  "  I  will  write  you  a  letter  if  you 
like,  Hammond,  and  answer  any  questions  that 
Mr.  Trevor  cares  to  ask.  More  than  that  I 
cannot  do. " 

She  felt  a  singular  distaste  to  the  whole  matter. 
She  did  not  want  to  link  Cosmo  in  any  way  with 
her  past.  He  belonged  to  the  present,  to  the 
future.  She  hated  to  think  of  him  as  connected 
with  Arnot,  however  slightly.  It  jarred  upon  her. 
She  wished  Hammond  in  Jericho — anywhere  but 
at  Craven,  in  anyone's  service  but  Cosmo  Trevor's 
— yet  she  could  not  refuse  so  simple  a  request. 


314  The  Torch  of  Life 

The  man  had  been  an  excellent  servant.  He  had 
been  devoted  to  Arnot.  She  rose  and  went  to  a 
writing-table. 

"You  will  say  a  good  word  for  me  to  Mr.  Trevor 
if  he  asks  about  me,  madam?"  said  Hammond's 
silky  tone  almost  in  her  ear. 

She  started.     She  had  not  heard  him  move. 

"Certainly,"  she  answered  curtly.  "You  may 
go  now,  Hammond.  I  will  send  you  the  letter 
when  it  is  ready. " 

"Thank  you,  madam.  I  am  very  grate- 
ful." 

Even  when  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Titian 
looked  round  again  to  be  sure  that  he  had  really, 
gone. 

The  morning's  brightness  had  evaporated  with 
his  coming. 

Chin  on  hand,  she  sat  for  a  long  time  before  the 
blank  sheet  of  paper,  seeing  episode  after  episode 
in  which  Hammond  had  played  the  part  of  silent 
observer.  Did  men  talk  to  their  valets?  she 
wondered.  Arnot  had  talked  to  Hammond  when 
she  was  not  there.  Would  Hammond  talk  to 
Cosmo  Trevor?  Would  he  tell  him  of  her  humilia- 
tions? Would  he  tell  him  of  her  hours  of  sub- 
mission, of  her  being  decked  and  draped  like  an 
idol,  of  the  experiments  tried  upon  her  beauty? 


Midges  in  Amber  315 

Would  he?  Would  he?  she  wondered  fiercely 

and  would  Cosmo  Trevor  listen? 

Her  cheeks  burned  hotly  at  the  thought.  What 
folly  it  had  been  to  play  at  forgetting  a  past  which 
still  lived,  which  could  paradoxically  run  on  ahead 
of  one,  and  lie  in  ambush,  ready  to  leap  out  when 
one  least  expected  it! 

Would  he  listen  if  Hammond  talked?  Would 
men?  Did  men?  She  knew  so  little  about  them 
really.  She  knew  so  little  about  anything,  if  it 
came  to  that.  She  had  not  minded  Fenton's 
knowledge.  He  belonged  to  the  past.  He  was 
the  one  good  thing  in  it.  He  understood.  But 
would  the  other? 

With  an  effort  she  took  up  a  pen  and  began  to 
write  to  Cosmo  Trevor.  When  she  had  despatched 
the  letter  she  felt  as  if  she  could  not  face  him  that 
afternoon,  as  if  she  must  give  up  the  cricket- 
match,  even  if  the  boys  were  to  be  disappointed. 

She  spent  her  morning  between  formulating 
excuses  and  telling  herself  what  a  fool  she  was. 
She  did  not  really  make  up  her  mind  what  to  do 
until  Toye  rapped  sharply  at  her  door  and  called 
out: 

"Did  anyone  tell  you  that  we're  lunching  early? 
I  hope  you're  ready. " 

Then  she  swept  into  a  sudden  bustle  of  pre- 


3i 6  The  Torch  of  Life 

paration,  and  found  herself  on  the  steps  almost 
before  she  knew  that  she  had  come  to  a  decision. 

A  dark  young  man,  Cosmo's  brother,  was  driving 
the  car. 

"On  second  thoughts,  Billy  refused  to  trust  the 
car  to  anyone  but  himself,"  Cosmo  said. 

"Don't  you  think  I'm  right,  Mrs.  Fleury?" 
asked  Billy  Trevor.  "Jump  in,  Toye.  I  haven't 
seen  you  for  a  million  years.  At  least,  it  seems 
so  to  me.  Cosmo  will  look  after  Mrs.  Fleury. " 

"Billy,  you  are  the  light  of  my  eyes,"  cried 
Toye,  getting  in  next  him.  "I'm  glad  that  you 
have  veiled  your  beauty  in  goggles,  otherwise  I 
should  be  dazzled." 

"Didn't  I  manage  that  nicely?"  murmured 
Cosmo  as  he  arranged  a  cushion  behind  Titian 
and  tucked  a  rug  around  her. 

"Did  you  manage  it?"  she  asked.  Her  morn- 
ing's disturbance  had  left  her  paler  than  usual, 
but  in  Cosmo's  eyes  she  looked  distractingly 
lovely. 

He  told  her  so  in  one  of  his  magnetic  glances. 

"This  is  a  chance  hour,"  he  said  caressingly. 
"I  see  so  little  of  you  when  the  cubs  are 
about. " 

"You  must  not  call  them  that.  They  are  dear 
boys/' 


Midges  in  Amber  317 

"  Don't  let  us  waste  time  in  talking  about  them. " 

"What  shall  we  talk  about?" 

There  was  almost  the  same  pleasant  sense  of 
isolation  as  in  a  gondola,  as  the  motor  hummed 
swiftly  through  red-roofed  village  and  arching 
wood. 

"I  have  a  favour  to  ask,"  said  Cosmo  softly. 
"But,  before  I  ask  it,  I  want  to  say  that  I  am  aw- 
fully sorry  I  couldn't  take  your  man,  Mrs.  Fleury. 
I  had  already  engaged  another  when  he  applied." 

By  her  sudden  sense  of  relief,  Titian  realised 
what  a  storm  in  a  tea-cup  she  had  raised. 

"It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least,"  she  cried. 

"  I'd  have  taken  him  if  I  could,  of  course.  I  hate 
even  to  seem  to  refuse  any  request  of  yours.  As 
it  was,  I  passed  him  on  to  my  brother-in-law,  Fred 
Allendale,  who  wants  a  man.  I  hope  he'll  take 
him." 

"It  really  doesn't  matter.  I  only  wrote  be- 
cause I  did  not  like  to  refuse  him  when  he  asked 
me.  It  was  in  no  sense  a  request  of  mine.  Please 
don't  think  any  more  of  it.  Now,  what  is  your 
favour?"  She  turned  to  him  with  a  happy  smile, 
her  foolish  fears  and  fancies  vanishing  like  a  wisp 
of  mist  before  the  sun.  "I  feel  almost  inclined  to 
grant  it  without  knowing  what  it  is. " 

"That's  very  sweet  and  generous  of  you,  but  is 


318  The  Torch  of  Life 

it  wise?"  he  asked  softly.  "Supposing  it  were 
the  half  of  your  kingdom?" 

A  waft  of  wind  blew  the  scented  chiffon  of  her 
veil  across  his  cheek.  It  was  like  a  delicate  caress, 
and  the  curve  of  her  lashes  on  her  creamy  skin  was 
adorable.  Any  man  might  well  lose  his  head  in 
her  presence. 

He  captured  the  trail  of  chiffon  and  held  it 
lightly  as  he  continued.  "It  is  not  as  bold  a 
request  as  that — now.  It  is  something  about  the 
ball." 

She  glanced  up  at  that,  with  sparkling  eyes. 
"The  ball?  Yes?  Oh,  you  don't  know  how 
excited  I  am  about  it !  It's  absurd  of  me,  I  know. 
At  my  age —  "  she  murmured  tentatively. 

"The  goddesses  have  nothing  to  do  with  age. 
Their  youth  is  eternal,"  he  continued.  His  voice 
trembled  a  little. 

She  took  the  veil  gently  from  his  fingers. 

"You  are  forgetting  your  favour." 

"I  forget  everything  when  I  am  with  you,"  he 
.cried.  "The  favour  is  this.  Will  you  wear 
white  that  night?  I  have  only  seen  you  in  black 
up  to  this,  except  for  this  wisp  of  cloud."  He 
touched  her  floating  veil  again.  "Will  you  shine 
like  the  day-star?  Will  you  wear  white?  To 
please  me?"  he  added  softly. 


Midges  in  Amber  319 

A  vivid  blush  surged  up  to  meet  her  curving 
lashes. 

"To  please  you?"  she  echoed.  "Yes.  I  think 
I  would  do  as  much  as  that  to  please  you. " 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall  be  able  to  stand  it,"  said 
Cosmo  boldly.  "Do  you  know  how  divinely 
lovely  you  are?" 

"Please  don't,"  she  pleaded,  with  a  feeling  that 
was  half-elation,  half -pain. 


CHAPTER  V 
FENTON'S  VISION 

T  ADY  TEMPEST,  as  onlooker,  saw  the  game 
from  every  aspect.  She  watched  its  trend 
with  a  wary  eye  for  Fenton's  interests,  and  as  the 
time  fixed  for  the  ball  drew  nearer,  she  wrote  him  a 
letter  of  some  urgence,  begging  of  him  to  come  and 
stay  at  Craven  for  at  least  a  few  days  beforehand. 

To  which  he  replied  that  he  was  too  busy  serv- 
ing Titian's  interests  to  come  before  the  day  of  the 
ball. 

Lady  Tempest  answered  in  some  agitation  that 
he  would  serve  his  own  better  by  an  immediate 
arrival,  to  which  Fenton  replied  by  quoting  with 
what  seemed  to  her  a  more  complete  blindness  than 
that  which  inspired  the  poet  to  write  the  line: 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait. 

To  which,  Lady  Tempest:  "Those  who  stand 
and  wait  are  liable  to  be  left  standing. " 
To  which,  silence  on  Fenton's  part. 
320 


Fenton's  Vision  321 

Then  his  sister  washed  her  hands  of  him  until 
he  arrived  on  the  fateful  day,  when  she  put  her 
arms  round  his  neck  and  hugged  him,  and  drew 
him  aside  into  her  little  morning-room,  where 
dinner  was  already  laid  for  the  house-party. 

"Aren't  dances  worse  than  earthquakes?" 
she  said.  "Especially  in  quiet  country-houses. 
Hugh  is  entrenched  in  the  smoking-room,  which 
needless  to  say  has  not  been  touched,  as  it  belongs 
to  the  men.  Nothing  will  dislodge  him  but  dinner. 
He  is  as  firmly  fixed  as  a  limpet  on  a  rock.  We 
are  to  dine  here  presently,  and  then  we  shall  be 
hunted  forth  until  the  room  is  transformed  into 
a  card-room.  Everything  else  is  in  train,  I  think. 
Toye  and  the  boys  and  Cosmo  have  been  inde- 
fatigable." 

Fenton  put  his  hands  on  his  sister's  shoulders 
and  looked  deep  into  her  eyes.  There  was  a  light 
in  his  own  and  his  face  was  quickened  and  eager. 

"Fuss  agrees  with  you,  Mollie,"  he  said.  "A 
word  before  the  pack  is  upon  us.  I  stole  past  the 
drawing-room  where  they  were  putting  an  extra 
polish  on  the  floor.  How  is  she?" 

Lady  Tempest  looked  back  at  him  with  a  ques- 
tion in  her  eyes. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  when  I  sent  for  you, 
Fenty?" 


322  The  Torch  of  Life 

"Am  I  too  late?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"I — don't  know.  I  wish  I  did.  She  is  lovelier 
than  ever.  Cosmo  is  always  in  attendance,  and 
I  must  admit  that  she  seems  to  like  it.  No  man 
could  be  long  in  her  company  without  feeling  the 
charm  of  her  beauty.  Hugh  and  the  boys  rave 
about  her.  She  has  made  heaps  of  conquests 
since  she  came  here." 

Fenton  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Her  beauty  is  the  least  part  of  her  to  me.  I — 
loved  her  best  when  her  eyes  were  red  from  crying. 
It  is  she,  she  herself,  her  lovely  nature,  her  courage, 
her  sweetness."  He  stopped  abruptly.  "Does 
she  enjoy  the  dangling?" 

"Fenty,  she  loves  it.  She  is  like  a  child  with  a 
handful  of  toys.  She  likes  them  all,  but  doesn't 
know  which  to  choose." 

His  face  cleared.     "If  that's  the  way " 

"But,  dear,  I  don't  think  that  Cosmo  is  one  of 
the  toys." 

"What  is  he,  then?" 

"I'm  not  sure.  Her  eyes,  her  voice,  soften 
when  she  speaks  to  him.  She  has  a  different  look 
for  him " 

"The  deuce  she  has!" 

"I  don't  know,"  continued  Lady  Tempest 
dubiously.  "I  hope  it  isn't  serious.  Of  course, 


Fenton's  Vision  323 

it  would  be  an  excellent  thing  for  Cosmo,  but " 

"It  wouldn't  be  an  excellent  thing  for  Cosmo  at 
all,"  broke  in  Fenton  decisively.  "He's  not  the 
man  for  her.  I  don't  believe  that  a  woman  like 
Titian  would  find  happiness  with  a  man  like  Cosmo. 
God  knows,  if  she  would,  I'd  be  the  first  to  give 
it  to  her  if  I  could.  She's  had  little  enough,  poor 
child.  The  best  thing  the  world  has  to  give  isn't 
good  enough  for  her,  but  I  can't  believe  that  Cosmo, 
a  soulless  young  philanderer,  could  give  her  the 
best.  He's  frittered  himself  on  too  many  other 
women.  He's  not  the  man  for  her,  Mollie, 
whoever  is." 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  narrow  space  left  by 
the  dinner-table  in  the  little  room. 

"You  are,  Fenty, "  she  said  softly. 

"As  for  that,"  he  returned,  with  difficulty, 
"if — there  is  such  a — gift  for  me  I — hope  I  may  be 
worthy  of  it.  If  not — It's  the  real  thing,  Moll. 
I'd — live,  or  die — for  her  happiness,  whichever 
way  would — give  it  to  her  most  surely."  He 
stopped,  and  awkwardly  moved  things  on  the 
mantelpiece.  "I'll  always  have  something.  She 
trusts  me.  She  turned  to  me  when  she  was  in 
trouble.  That's  a  big  thing,  Mollie.  She  must  be 
happy  now.  But  I  don't  want  her  to  make  a 
mistake.  One  pays  so  much  more  heavily  for 


324  The  Torch  of  Life 

mistakes  than  for  actual  sins.  Yet  you  make  a 
mistake  with  your  eyes  shut,  and  you  generally 
sin  with  your  eyes  open,  so  the  punishment  ought 
to  be  heavier.  It  isn't  though. " 

He  sighed,  and  Mary  Tempest  knew  that  he 
was  thinking  of  his  own  great  mistake.  She  put 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"That's  all  over  now,  my  dear  old  boy,"  she 
said  lovingly.  "Please  God,  you'll  have  your 
happiness  yet.  Titian  was  chained  up  for  so 
long  that  she  is  enjoying  her  freedom  to  the  full 
now.  She's  running  wild  a  little,  and  who  could 
blame  her?" 

"Not  I." 

"Will  you  speak  to  her  to-night,  Fenton?" 

He  moved  his  shoulders  impatiently,  then  turned 
to  her  with  a  half-shy,  half -wistful  smile. 

"Don't  let's  talk  about  it,  Moll,  please.  I — 
don't  want — to  have  the  bloom  rubbed  off." 

"My  dear!"  she  whispered. 

Then  the  door  was  flung  open  and  what  seemed 
an  avalanche  of  boys  and  dogs  whirled  into  the 
room,  turning  peace  to  babel. 

"I  say,  Fenty!" 

"Good  old  Fenty!" 

"Nice  way  you  sneaked  in!" 

"Mean  old  hoss  not  to  give  a  shout!" 


Fenton's  Vision  325 

"  'Spose  you're  a  nailer  at  the  tango  by 
this." 

"Two  nailers,"  returned  Fenton,  emerging 
from  the  pats  and  thumps  and  punches  to  greet 
Toye  as  she  entered. 

"Hallo,  Toye.  Not  dressed  yet?  Have  you 
learned  to  respect  your  uncle's  grey  hairs?"  he 
asked,  kissing  the  little  cool  cheek  she  turned  up 
to  him. 

"  I'll  respect  you,  Fenty,  when  you  become  really 
respectable,  which  I  sincerely  hope  will  be  never!" 
Toye  answered.  "We  have  had  a  day  of  it.  Why 
didn't  you  come  earlier,  you  wretch,  and  help  us 
to  bear  its  burden  and  heat?  You  reap  the 
benefit  of  our  labours  now." 

"You  forget,  my  child,  that  I  am  a  man  of 
affairs. " 

"Not  of  as  many  affairs  as  most  men,"  she 
retorted  quickly. 

"Are  you  speaking  practically,  or  sentimentally, 
may  I  ask?" 

"Sentimentally,  of  course,"  she  answered,  with 
a  grimace.  "I  am  a  confirmed  sentimentalist, 
as  you  know.  Aren't  I?" 

"I  never  met  anyone  who  could  talk  more  tosh 
to  the  minute  than  you,  Toye, "  put  in  her  brother 
Hugh.  "Why  aren't  you  titivating  yourself  and 


326  The  Torch  of  Life 

hiding  the  burning  light  of  your  hair  under  a  bushel 
of  ospreys  or  something?" 

"I  thought  you  admired  red  hair,"  Toye 
retorted.  "I've  heard  you  rave  over  Mrs. 
Fleury's." 

"Hers  isn't  red.  It's  a  glorious  chestnut," 
said  Hugh  indignantly. 

Fenton  laughed.     Toye  brushed  against  him. 

"Your  chestnut-tree  is  in  blossom,  Fenty, "  she 
murmured.  ' '  A  big  lovely,  rosy  creamy  thing. ' ' 

Fenton  looked  at  her  lazily.  "  I  was  never  good 
at  riddles,  Toye.  What's  the  answer?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  the  answer,"  she  said. 
"You'll  have  to  find  that  out  for  yourself. " 

"Children  all,  it's  time  to  go  and  dress,"  said 
Lady  Tempest.  "  You  can  continue  your  squabbles 
at  dinner  if  you  like.  I  must  try  to  dislodge  your 
father  from  the  smoking-room  or  he  will  never  be 
ready  in  time.  I  made  Titian  go  and  rest,"  she 
continued,  turning  to  Fenton.  "She  is  as  excited 
as  a  young  girl  over  her  first  ball. " 

"What  else  is  she  but  young,  I'd  like  to  know?" 
growled  Hugh.  "Isn't  she  a  ripper,  Fenty?  And 
she's  taken  to  dancing  like  a  bird. " 

"How  very  odd!"  Fenton  remarked  with  a 
twinkle.  "Now,  the  only  place  where  I've  ever 
seen  birds  dance  was  in  South  America. " 


Fenton's  Vision  327 

"Go  to,  thou  literal  old  hoss!"  cried  Hugh  with 
another  thump.  "Let's  come  and  make  ourselves 
look  dazzling,  Fenty,  and  I'll  cheer  you  up  with  a 
cigarette  that's  something  like,  I  can  tell  you. " 

"Something  like  what?"  asked  Fenton  inno- 
cently. "Hay?" 

For  which  he  was  rewarded  with  another  punch 
between  the  shoulders  as  his  nephews  convoyed 
him  upstairs  between  them. 

Toye  looked  after  the  three  retreating  backs. 
Her  gaze  lingered  upon  Fenton's. 

"I  wonder?"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  wonder? 
Some  women  are  fools,  but  all  men!" 

There  were  greenish  sparks  in  her  eyes  as  she 
ran  lightly  up  the  stairs. 

When  Titian  saw  her  ball-dress,  disappointment 
surged  uppermost  in  her  mind  despite  its  beauty. 
Owing  to  the  lateness  of  her  decision  to  wear  white, 
the  dress  had  not  arrived  until  the  very  day  of  the 
ball,  and  she  saw  it  for  the  first  time  when  she 
went  to  her  room  to  rest. 

There  it  lay  upon  the  bed,  cleverly  spread  by 
Marshall  for  her  admiration. 

It  was  what  Madame  Fadette,  its  creator,  called 
an  inspiration,  in  its  artistic  mingling  of  ivory  lace, 
chiffon,  and  gold  tissue.  A  pair  of  gold  shoes  came 


328  The  Torch  of  Life 

with  it,  and  a  fillet  of  golden  roses.  There  was 
also  a  golden  rose  to  clasp  the  laces  at  her  bosom. 

Marshall  hung  over  it  in  ecstasy,  touching  the 
filmy  folds  with  reverent  fingers.  Titian  could 
almost  fancy  that  she  purred  with  delight.  At 
last  she  looked  up,  struck  by  her  lady's  silence. 

"Aren't  you  pleased,  madam?"  she  asked. 

"Y-es, "  answered  Titian  slowly.  "It's  very 
pretty,  but " 

"Pretty  is  not  the  word,"  returned  Marshall 
with  decision.  "It's  ravishing,  madam.  That's 
what  it  is.  What  is  it  that  doesn't  please  you?" 

"I  thought  it  would  have  been  all  white,"  said 
Titian. 

"All  white  would  have  been  insipid.  It  would 
not  have  suited  your  style  at  all.  I  wrote  to 
Madame  Fadette  as  you  ordered,  madam,  and 
asked  her  to  create  a  white  ball-dress  for  you.  This 
is  the  result.  It  is  her  own  idea  entirely.  She 
has  made  for  you  for  so  many  years  that  she  knows 
exactly  what  suits  you." 

Marshall  was  right,  Titian  thought,  as  she  tried 
to  rest,  her  brain  in  a  whirl  of  excitement.  What 
had  she,  a  woman  of  thirty,  to  do  with  the  snowy 
vestures  of  a  debutante?  Her  day  for  that  was 
past,  and  she  had  never  had  it. 

Yet  in  some  ways  she  was  as  fresh  and  unspoilt 


Fenton's  Vision  329 

as  the  youngest  girl  who  would  be  at  the  ball  to- 
night, as  innocently  eager  in  her  desires,  as  simply 
expectant  of  its  pleasures.  There  was  something 
more  in  the  contrast  of  her  thwarted  youth  and 
the  ripeness  of  her  years  than  that  piquancy 
which  so  pleasantly  titillated  Cosmo  Trevor; 
there  was  a  pathos  as  well,  if  only  he  had  eyes  to 
see  it. 

There  was  no  thought  of  sadness  or  self-pity 
in  the  radiant  vision  which  looked  at  Titian  from 
the  long  glass  later. 

Madame  Fadette  had  proved  herself  in  the  right. 
The  clinging  gown  with  its  clever  touches  of  golden 
tissue  suited  her  rich  beauty  as  no  simpler  white 
would  have  done.  Round  her  throat  she  wore  a 
quaint  gold  necklace  of  Indian  workmanship  from 
which  depended  a  golden  bird  with  outspread 
wings.  It  rose  and  fell  on  the  white  curve  of  her 
breast  with  every  happy  breath. 

Even  Marshall  was  silent  before  such  glowing 
triumphant  beauty.  Titian  seemed  to  radiate 
joy,  as  if  she  were  illumined  from  within. 

"You  think  I  shall  do,  Marshall?"  she  asked, 
turning  from  the  glass  at  last. 

"Do,  madam?"  breathed  the  ecstatic  Marshall. 
"All  I  wish  is — that  poor  Mr.  Fleury  could  see 
you, "  had  been  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  but  she 


330  The  Torch  of  Life 

neatly  nipped  it  off  and  turned  the  name  to  Miss 
Gerard's. 

"I'm  sorry  she  is  not  here, "  said  Titian,  but  her 
thoughts  did  not  linger  with  her  absent  friend. 
She  was  too  closely  enwrapped  in  the  enchanting 
atmosphere  of  the  present. 

Fenton  dressed  early  and  waited  in  the  hall  on 
the  chance  of  an  unwitnessed  greeting.  His  eyes 
never  left  the  broad  staircase ;  his  heart  leaped  at 
the  sound  of  every  footfall.  Each  hurrying  maid, 
each  busy,  darting  man  left  disappointment  in 
their  wake.  Then  he  began  to  pace  up  and  down 
the  hall,  fearing  the  momentary  advent  of  the 
boys,  and  with  them  a  vista  of  lost  chances. 

As  he  strode  a  soft  sound  made  him  turn  sharply. 
Titian  was  coming  down. 

On  the  instant,  the  old  oak  stairs  became  a  lad- 
der from  heaven,  and  the  starry  host  concentrated 
in  the  person  of  one  beloved  woman.  He  held  his 
breath  and  turned  a  little  paler  at  the  sight  of  the 
shining  vision  crowned  with  golden  roses.  Slowly, 
clowly  she  came  down.  It  was  as  if  she  were 
deliberately  stepping  from  her  heights  to  come  to 
him,  or  so  it  pleased  him  to  fancy. 

O,  world  with  stars  en  wrought!  O,  sun  and 
moon  of  wonders,  was  he  to  be  made  most  blest 


Fenton's  Vision  331 

and  happy  of  all  unworthy  men?  He  would  fain 
have  knelt  on  the  lowest  stair  until  she  came  near 
enough  for  him  to  kiss  her  beautiful  feet,  to  touch 
the  hem  of  her  garment. 

As  it  was,  he  stood  still,  gazing  at  her  with  his 
whole  soul  in  his  eyes. 

She  did  not  see  him  until  she  was  more  than  half- 
way down  the  stairs,  lingering  a  little  with  unusual 
self -consciousness,  her  eyes  shining,  her  lips  parted 
dreamily. 

When  she  caught  sight  of  him,  she  quickened 
her  pace,  and  descended  the  rest  of  the  stairs  in  a 
little  run,  holding  out  both  hands. 

He  took  them  in  his.  Words  failed  him  for  the 
moment,  but  his  eyes  spoke. 

"It's  very  good  to  see  you,  Fenty.  I  am  so  glad 
you  were  able  to  come." 

"Are  you?" 

"Of  course  I  am.  Do  you — do  you  think  I 
look  nice,  Fenty?" 

Nice — what  a  bald,  meagre,  inadequate  word! 
Oh,  if  he  had  but  the  gift  of  tongues!  If  he  were 
but  a  Chrysostom  that  he  could  lay  golden  phrases 
at  her  golden  feet.  All  he  could  muster  was  a 
husky: 

"Very."  Oh,  beautiful,  beautiful,  thrice  beauti- 
ful! Thy  dumb  servant  hath  no  words  for  thy 


332  The  Torch  of  Life 

worship.  He  can  but  lay  his  heart  within  thy 
hands,  and  fall  on  his  knees  before  thee ! 

"Really,  Fenty? "  She  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
half -shy  coquetry  that  was  new  to  him. 

"Really,  Titian." 

"When  did  you  come?"  she  asked. 

' '  About  an  hour  ago. ' '  He  was  beginning  to  feel 
the  earth  beneath  his  feet  again.  For  a  time  he 
had  been  whirled  dizzily  through  space. 

"Then  it  was  you  whom  I  heard  Hugh  apostro- 
phising as  'old  hoss'  just  outside  my  door?" 

"That's  his  favourite  term  of  endearment  for 
me." 

"I  think  you've  forgotten  that  you're  holding 
my  hands  all  this  time,  Fenty,"  she  said  with  a 
little  laugh. 

His  clasp  tightened.  "No,  I  haven't.  Not  a 
bit  of  it.  How  many  dances  am  I  to  have?" 

She  looked  surprised.     "  Do  you  dance,  Fenty? ' ' 

"I  am  better  at  sitting  out, "  he  confessed,  "but 
you'll  have  so  many  dancing  partners  that  you'll 
probably  be  glad  of  a  rest." 

It  was  good  to  see  him  again,  good  to  feel  that 
without  effort  they  had  slipped  back  once  more  to 
their  old  terms. 

"How  many  do  you  want?"  she  asked. 

"Every  one." 


Fenton's  Vision  333 

She  laughed  outright  at  his  extravagance. 

"You  mustn't  be  greedy,"  she  said.  "I  am 
engaged  about  three  deep  already." 

"You're  not?" 

"I  am  indeed.  You've  no  idea  of  how  popular 
I  am,  Fenty. " 

"Not  the  faintest,"  he  said,  still  holding  her 
hands  and  smiling  at  her.  "  Give  me  two  running, 
at  any  rate. " 

She  hesitated.     "  If  I  can. " 

"Not  if.    You  must." 

"Fenty,  I  don't  know  you  to-night,"  she  said, 
raising  her  eyebrows. 

The  light  fell  full  on  the  golden  flowers  in  her 
ruddy  hair,  on  the  golden  bird  that  rose  and  fell 
on  her  breast. 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Fenton,  dropping  her 
hands,  and  turning  away  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ON  THE  CREST 

nPITIAN  rode  on  the  crest  of  a  wave  of  happy 

*•      excitement.     Ardent    eyes    burned    incense 

before  her;  eager  tongues  poured  forth  oblations. 

Lady  Tempest  was  besieged  for  futile  introduc- 
tions to  her.  She  smiled  and  regretted,  but  her 
programme  was  full  to  overflowing.  The  letter  C 
with  an  arrogant  little  curl  at  its  top  figured 
frequently  on  her  programme.  It  followed  hot 
upon  the  heels  of  the  two  spaces  across  which 
"Fenty"  was  scrawled  in  a  rather  shaky  hand. 

The  lights,  the  music,  the  dancing,  the  incense, 
intoxicated  her  to  a  pitch  of  gay  coquetry  which 
she  had  never  known  before. 

Cosmo's  touch,  his  nearness,  the  fire  in  his  eyes, 
thrilled  her  to  an  unconsciousness  of  danger- 
signals. 

She  felt  supreme,  ineffable,  as  if  nothing  could 
ever  go  wrong  in  this  beautiful  world  again. 

At  last  Fenton's  turn  came.     He  waited  for  her 

334 


On  the  Crest  335 

in  the  hall.  She  had  seen  him  there  for  several 
dances  past,  waiting,  looking  at  her  each  time  as 
she  swept  by  him  on  a  partner's  arm.  Now  he 
came  forward  with  that  new  air  of  determination. 

"Our  dance,  I  think,"  he  said. 

She  smiled  gaily  at  him. 

"Our  dances,"  she  answered,  giving  his  arm  a 
little  squeeze.  She  felt  him  tremble  as  she  touched 
him.  "  A  goose  walking  over  your  grave,  Fenty  ?  " 
she  asked  lightly.  ' '  You  really  should  have  learned 
the  tango.  Did  you  see  how  nicely  I  danced  it?" 

"No." 

"Didn't  you  look  on  at  the  dancing  at  all?" 

"No." 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly.  Had  he  grown 
incomprehensible  again? 

"Where  are  you  taking  me  to,  Fenty?"  she 
asked. 

They  were  going  down  a  corridor  which  led  to  a 
side  door  into  the  gardens. 

"I  am  taking  you  to  the  garden,  to  the  yew 
hedge,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  cool  and  quiet  there." 

The  glass  door  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  was 
open.  As  they  neared  it,  a  couple  came  hurrying 
in  from  the  blue  darkness  without. 

They  were  Toye  and  Cosmo,  and  they  laughed 
as  they  came  towards  them. 


336  The  Torch  of  Life 

Toye  wore  a  daring  little  frock  with  a  tunic  of 
tulle  almost  the  colour  of  her  hair.  The  string  of 
pearls  round  her  neck  was  no  whiter  than  her  skin. 

"Don't  go  too  far  away,  Mrs.  Fleury, "  said 
Cosmo.  "Remember  that  the  second  next  dance 
is  mine." 

She  smiled.     "I  won't  forget." 

"Are  you  going  to  teach  Fenty  how  to  flirt?" 
Toye  asked.  "I'm  afraid  you'll  have  a  hard  task. 
He  doesn't  even  know  the  rudiments.  Do  you, 
Fenty?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't,"  Fenton  answered.  "But 
if  I  wanted  lessons  in  the  art  I'd  rather  go  to 
you  than  to — Mrs.  Fleury." 

"Would  you  indeed?"  Toye  retorted,  with  a 
glance  up  at  Titian.  "I'm  not  at  all  sure  that 
you'd  be  right." 

"You're  missing  half  this  dance,"  said  Fenton. 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  a  hint?  "  his  niece  laughed, 
slipping  her  arm  through  Cosmo's.  "Come  along, 
Cossie,  we're  evidently  de  trop." 

The  insinuation  pricked  Titian.  What  a  knack 
Toye  had  of  trying  to  put  her  in  her  place  and  keep 
her  there!  Her  place  was  evidently  on  a  plane 
with  Fenton  and  Lady  Tempest,  and  Toye  seemed 
to  push  her  with  a  light  word  and  a  laugh  from  the 
rising  generation  to  the  risen. 


On  the  Crest  337 

She  checked  Fenton  with  a  touch. 

"It  would  be  better  not  to  go  so  far  away," 
she  said.  "Let  us  stay  somewhere  nearer  so  that 
we  can  hear  when  the  dances  begin." 

"Are  you  so  keen  on  dancing  everything?" 

"Yes.  I  am  keen,  as  you  call  it.  It's  my  first 
dance,  you  know,  Fenty.  You  may  think  me 
absurd,  but  I  can't  help  feeling  excited.  I  want 
to  enjoy  every  moment  of  it." 

"I  don't  think  you  absurd.  Where  would  you 
like  to  go?" 

"There  are  plenty  of  nice  places  in  the  conserva- 
tory, "  she  said,  turning  towards  it. 

"Oh,  you've  sampled  them?" 

"Some  of  them,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile. 

The  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against  Fenton 
as  they  threaded  their  way  to  a  secluded  nook  at 
the  far  end  of  the  conservatory. 

A  fountain  tinkled  pleasantly;  quaint  lanterns 
hung  among  the  palms  like  luminous  butterflies 
and  diffused  a  faint  radiance. 

Titian  was  never  in  less  mood  for  reality.  All 
her  impulses  were  for  fluttering  capriciously  above 
the  smiling  surface  of  things ;  for  tossing  pleasures 
from  hand  to  hand  as  a  juggler  plays  with  gaily- 
coloured  balls.  For  her  to-night,  no  deeps  existed. 

In  Fenton,  the  very  foundations  of  his  being  were 


338  The  Torch  of  Life 

moved,  and  he,  usually  so  swift  to  understand, 
failed  to  see  that  to  grasp  to-night's  chance  were 
to  imperil  its  very  existence. 

"Do  you  care  to  know  what  I  think  of  you?" 
he  asked  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  sat  down  next  her. 

She  looked  at  him.  There  was  something  por- 
tentous about  Fenty  to-night.  She  really  could 
not  be  serious.  At  another  time  she  would  be 
ready  to  respond  to  his  mood,  but  not  now.  She 
must  be  allowed  to  feel  young,  gay,  irresponsible, 
just  for  to-night. 

"Not  unless  it's  something  nice,"  she  returned 
quickly,  opening  her  fan  and  playing  with  it. 
"I  warn  you,  Fenty,  that  I  am  in  a  hopelessly 
frivolous  mood  this  evening. " 

"Are  you?" 

"Would  you  like  me  to  flirt  with  you?  Or  try 
to?"  she  added,  remembering  Toye's  comment. 

"No,  thanks." 

"It's  useless  to  be  cross  with  me,  Fenty. " 

"I'm  not  cross  with  you." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"It's — just  this,"  he  said,  clasping  and  unclasp- 
ing the  hands  that  hung  between  his  knees.  "You 
want  to  play  the  fool  to-night,  and  I — can't. 
Things — have  happened  lately  that  have — that 
have  altered  things. " 


On  the  Crest  339 

"I  know,"  she  answered  softly,  touched  in  spite 
of  her  proclamation  of  frivolity  by  what  she  felt 
underlay  his  halting  phrases. 

"You  know?"  he  asked,  turning  quickly  to  her. 

"Only  bald  facts.  You  never  told  me  anything 
about  your  own  affairs,  Fenty. " 

"I  did  not  want  to  bother  you." 

"As  if  my  only  friend  could  ever  have  bothered 
me." 

"Am  I  that?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"You  were  for  years,"  she  returned. 

"But  not  now?" 

"Not  my  only  friend,"  she  answered  softly. 
"You  have  your  own  place,  Fenty  dear. " 

"Where  is  it?"  he  whispered,  taking  fan  and 
hand  in  his  clasp. 

She  drew  both  away.  "It's  quite  a  comfortable 
little  niche,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "You 
mustn't  be  too  grasping. " 

"But  I  am  grasping.  I  can't  be  content  with 
a  mere  niche, "  he  said  huskily. 

"I'm  afraid  you  must  be." 

"Who  has  supplanted  me?" 

"My  dear  Fenty,  don't  be  absurd.  No  one 
has  supplanted  you."  She  melted  again.  "You 
are  safe  in  your  own  warm  place.  No  one  could 
dislodge  you  from  it,  Fenty." 


340  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I  suppose  I  must  be  satisfied  with  a  crumb, 
for  to-night. " 

"  If  you  call  that  a  crumb, "  she  answered  lightly. 
"I  am  becoming  so  spoilt  that  I  think  it  sounds 
rather  ungrateful  of  you. " 

"Do  you?" 

Then  after  a  pause: 

"Yes.  You're  getting  on  quite  nicely — for  a 
novice. " 

"At  what?" 

"Flirting." 

"Don't, "  he  said,  touching  a  fold  of  her  gown. 

Something  in  his  tone  pierced  through  her 
deliberate  lightness.  She  glanced  quickly  at  him 
and  away  again. 

"Very  well,  I  won't,"  she  said.  "What  shall 
we  talk  about?  Tell  me  something  of  your  life, 
Fenty.  You  know  all  about  mine. " 

"All?"     Doubt  rang  in  the  query. 

The  swift  blood  raced  to  her  cheek,  but  she  did 
not  lower  her  eyes  before  his. 

"Well,  nearly  all,"  she  admitted. 

Silence  fell  for  a  moment.  The  fountain  dripped 
and  tinkled  coolly  through  the  stillness.  Then 
there  was  a  rustle  of  skirts  and  murmurs  of  voices 
as  the  dancers  in  couples  invaded  their  dim  solitude. 
No  one  came  very  near  them.  The  chairs  had  been 


On  the  Crest  341 

placed  with  tact  and  discretion.  Presently  the 
whispers  became  soft  as  the  rustle  of  palm- 
leaves. 

"  Well?  Have  you  nothing  to  say?  "  said  Titian 
at  last. 

Fenton  turned  a  white  face  to  her.  "Yes.  I 
have; — much  to  say.  Much  that  is  burning  to 
be  out.  But  you  don't  want  to  hear  it." 

She  looked  a  little  startled.  "I  don't  want  to 
be  serious.  Don't  be  serious,  Fenty.  Don't  spoil 
my  enjoyment. " 

"God  forbid  that  I  should  spoil  your  enjoy- 
ment," he  said  bitterly.  "You  never  understood 
me,  Titian,  if  you  could  think  that. " 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  she  murmured. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you?  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  want 
you  to  think?" 

"I  don't  want  to  think  at  all  to-night.  Can't 
you  understand,  Fenty?" 

"I  understand  that  you  are  deliberately  playing 
with  me, "  he  said. 

The  dancers  rose,  drifted  away,  except  for  a 
couple  at  the  other  end  of  the  conservatory. 

"No;  oh,  no,  I'm  not." 

"What  then?"  He  looked  at  her  hands  flut- 
tering once  more  about  the  fan.  In  his  present 
mood,  he  did  not  dare  to  touch  them  again.  He 


342  The  Torch  of  Life 

looked  at  the  bent  head,  at  the  quickened  rise  and 
fall  of  the  golden  bird,  and  then  he  looked  away. 

"I— don't  know,"  she  faltered.  "Fenty,  don't 
be  unkind. " 

"It  is  you  who  are  unkind.  You  madden  me. 
You  play  with  me,  you  tempt  me  to  speak,  and 
then  you  seal  my  lips.  You  spoke  the  truth. 
I  don't  understand  you."  He  looked  at  her 
with  sombre  unhappy  eyes  as  if  he  would  wrest 
comprehension  from  her. 

Gone  was  his  starry  vision.  It  was  not  to  him 
that  the  golden  rose  of  womanhood  was  to  be 
given.  His  tongue  was  tied.  His  was  no  fiery 
eloquence  to  sweep  her  from  her  feet  to  his  arms. 
Every  halting  word  seemed  to  raise  an  invisible 
barrier  higher  between  them. 

"I — I  don't  think  I  understand  myself." 

"You  can  understand  this  much,  at  least.  I 
am  a  man,  not  a  stone.  You  are  a  woman,  not  a 
child.  You  should  know  better  than  to  play 
with  fire. " 

"Fenton!" 

"You  are  playing  with  it  now,"  he  went  on,  in 
a  fierce  undertone,  clasping  his  hands  until  the 
knuckles  showed  white.  "To  amuse  yourself,  you 
have  lit  a  blaze  in  me.  You  don't  care  what  it 
burns  so  long  as  you  see  its  pretty  flare.  Take 


On  the  Crest  343 

care.     Don't    come    too    near.     Your    beautiful 
hands  may  get  scorched." 

"Fenton!"  she  cried  again,  lifting  the  necklace 
from  her  throat  as  if  it  choked  her. 

As  quickly  as  it  had  arisen,  the  flame  died  out  of 
Fenton's  face,  leaving  it  grey  with  the  ashes  of 
despair. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "But  you 
should  have  learned  by  this  that  there  are  limits 
to  a  man's  endurance." 

Hot  anger  suddenly  swept  over  her. 

"I  have  learned  that  there  are  limits  to  mine," 
she  cried,  rising  as  she  saw  Cosmo  Trevor  coming , 
towards  her  between  the  palms.     "  Ah,  Mr.  Trevor, 
has  our  dance  begun?" 

The  relief  in  her  tone  cut  Fenton  to  the  quick. 
He  rose  too,  and  stood  beside  her  silently. 

"It's  just  beginning,"  Trevor  answered.  "I've 
been  looking  for  you  everywhere.  Come  along, 
Mrs.  Fleury,  I  don't  want  to  lose  a  bar. " 

"Nor  I,"  she  said,  turning  to  him  eagerly. 

As  she  moved,  her  fan  slipped  to  the  ground. 
The  two  men  stooped  for  it,  but  it  was  Fen- 
ton who  secured  it  and  restored  it  to  her.  It 
gave  her  a  fierce  pleasure  to  see  that  his  hand 
trembled. 

"Thank  you,"   she  said  in  a  tone  that  was 


344  The  Torch  of  Life 

delicately  frosted.  She  was  glad  if  she  had  hurt 
him.  He  had  tried  to  spoil  her  evening. 

A  tumult  of  feelings  warred  within  her  as  she 
swept  away  on  Cosmo's  arm,  with  eyes  carefully 
averted  from  the  hurt  look  on  Fenton's  face.  At 
the  bottom  of  her  heart,  she  knew  well  what  had 
looked  at  her  from  his  eyes,  but  she  thrust  the 
knowledge  from  her  as  she  had  thrust  the  reality. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  felt  really  angry 
with  Fenton. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  GOLDEN   BIRD 

read  disturbance  in  Titian's  flutter- 
ing  breath  and  heightened  colour,  in  the 
forced  ring  of  her  laughter  and  in  her  high-held 
head. 

"Has  old  Fenty  been  making  love  to  her,  I 
wonder?"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  he  slipped  his 
arm  round  her. 

The  idea  tightened  his  clasp;  he  could  not  let 
himself  be  cut  out  by  Fenton.  This  sleeping 
beauty  was  lovely  enough  to  turn  any  man's  head. 
He  was  an  adept  at  smoothing  ruffled  feelings. 
He  began  with  the  lightest  stroke.  What  wonder 
if  the  touch  grew  bolder  at  continued  contact? 

"I  never  like  to  talk  when  I  am  dancing,  do 
you,"  he  said  softly,  looking  at  the  beautiful 
flushed  face  so  near  his  own. 

"You  forget  my  inexperience,"  she  laughed. 
"But  I  think  you  are  right.  It  is  wiser  to  enjoy 
one  thing  at  a  time. " 

345 


346  The  Torch  of  Life 

"I  am  enjoying  several,"  he  murmured.  "My 
pleasure  is  exquisitely  complex,  as  all  pleasure 
should  be. " 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  agree  with  you  there," 
she  demurred.  "I  think  I  like  simple  things 
best." 

"You  can't  call  dancing  like  this  simple." 

"Is.  it  the  point  of  view  or  the  surrounding 
circumstances  which  make  pleasures  simple  or 
complex?"  she  asked. 

"In  this  case  the  surrounding  circumstances,  I 
think, "  he  said,  with  a  swift  glance  from  beneath 
his  thick  lashes. 

Titian  turned  away  her  head.  "I  thought  you 
didn't  want  to  talk. " 

"Nor  do  I.     I  am  content  to  drift." 

"So  am  I." 

"Let  us  drift,  then." 

Titian  felt  as  if  he  had  charmed  her  back  to  her 
former  sphere  of  joy.  Cosmo  always  seemed  to 
restore  to  her  what  Fenton  took  away.  She  turned 
to  him  again  with  happy  parted  lips,  a  swinging 
lightness  in  every  movement. 

"I  never  thought  that  dancing  could  be  like 
this." 

"Ah,  you  have  much  to  learn,  most  beautiful 
lady." 


The  Golden  Bird  347 

"I  have,"  she  said,  with  a  little  sigh,  "and  I 
have  lost  so  many  years." 

"There  are  many  more  to  come,"  Trevor  mur- 
mured. "I  would  like  to  teach  you  some  things. 
May  I?" 

"If  you  wish.  But  you  have  taught  me  much 
already. " 

"What  have  I  taught  you?" 

A  sudden  shyness  checked  her.  "Oh,  I  don't 
know.  Different  things.  Things  about  life." 

"To  have  taught  one  such  as  you  anything  about 
life  should  be  privilege  enough  for  any  man, "  said 
Trevor  in  quickened  tones.  "Yet  I  am  grasping. " 

Ah,  grasping!  That  was  what  she  had  called 
Fenton  a  little  while  ago.  Strange  that  Cosmo's 
ambition  should  call  forth  no  repulse. 

"I  want  to  teach  you  a  little  more.     May  I?" 

It  was  a  sweet  avarice,  one  easily  forgiven. 

"What  do  you  want  to  teach  me?"  she 
whispered. 

Cosmo  did  not  quite  know.  He  had  drifted  on 
the  tide  of  her  beauty  to  his  own  skill  in  phrase- 
making. 

"Let  us  secure  a  seat  before  the  rush  comes. 
We'll  go  to  a  nook  behind  the  conservatory,  which 
I  don't  think  anyone  has  discovered  except 
myself." 


348  The  Torch  of  Life 

It  was  cool  and  still  in  the  open  air.  The  high- 
backed  white  seat  which  was  their  goal  was  set 
in  an  angle  between  the  garden  wall  and  the  faintly 
luminous  wall  of  glass.  Once  or  twice  a  light  shape 
and  the  white  patch  of  a  shirt  front  flitted  by  in 
search  of  seclusion,  but  otherwise  they  were  alone, 
in  a  scented  solitude,  silent  save  for  the  fluttering 
of  night-moths  against  the  lure  of  the  glass  panes 
behind  them. 

Trevor  took  Titian's  fan  and  swayed  it  to  and 
fro. 

"The  night  air  is  delicious,"  he  said.  "It  is 
like  a  caress  on  one's  cheek.  Don't  you  feel  it  so?  " 
He  moved  the  fan  nearer  to  her  face. 

"It  is  very  pleasant,"  she  admitted. 

"The  night  wind  has  all  sorts  of  privileges," 
Cosmo  continued.  "But  I  have  one  advantage 
over  him. " 

"What  is  that?" 

"Do  you  care  to  know?" 

The  soft  waves  of  air  were  like  caresses  on  her 
cheek,  but  she  could  not  think  of  them  as  coming 
only  from  the  night  wind. 

"Yes,  please." 

"I  can  tell  you  how  beautiful  you  are.  He 
can't." 

"Oh!"     She  moved  a  little. 


The  Golden  Bird  349 

''Why  don't  you  like  me  to  tell  you  that  you  are 
beautiful?"  he  asked,  bending  closer. 

"I — oh,  I  don't  know.  It — it  seems  to  matter 
so  little,  somehow." 

"It  matters  tremendously." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?  "  There  was  a  wistful 
ring  in  her  voice  which  was  lost  on  him. 

"You  are  so  used  to  the  fact  of  your  beauty  that 
you  don't  realise  how  much  it  matters.  Haven't 
men  told  you ?" 

"Oh,  don't,"  she  cried. 

"Why  not?  Doesn't  it  please  you  to  have  any- 
one call  you  beautiful?" 

"Not  anyone."  Her  head  was  bent,  her  voice 
low  and  confused. 

"  Does  it  please  you  when  I  call  you  beautiful?  " 
His  tones  were  dangerously  soft,  and  Titian's 
heart  began  to  beat  quickly.  She  put  out  her 
hand  as  if  to  stop  him.  He  took  it  and  kept  it  in 
his. 

"Yes.     No.    Yes,  I  think  it  does." 

"Yes,  no,  most  beautiful  lady.  We'll  leave  it 
at  that  for  the  moment.  You  can't  alter  the  great 
fact  of  your  beauty  whether  one  tells  you  of  it  or 
not."  His  fingers  were  deftly  unbuttoning  her 
glove.  "I  want  your  satin  hand,  not  your  suede 
glove, "  he  whispered,  as  he  drew  it  off. 


35°  The  Torch  of  Life 

Titian  was  silent.  Words  seemed  to  choke  her. 
She  made  a  faint  effort  to  withdraw  her  hand,  but 
the  curious  magnetism  of  his  presence  weakened 
her  as  before. 

"You  were  kind  to  me  in  Venice, "  he  went  on  in 
the  same  soft  tones.  "Why  be  cruel  to  me  now?" 

"This  is  not  Venice." 

"That  is  no  reason.  I  have  travelled  far  since 
the  Venetian  days.  Haven't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  very  low. 

"Are  you  happier  now?" 

"Yes." 

"So  am  I,"  he  murmured,  carried  away  by  the 
influences  of  her  touch,  her  nearness,  and  the 
starry  dusk.  "It  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  be 
happy,  but  it  is  a  still  more  wonderful  thing  to 
realise  that  one  is  happy. " 

As  he  held  her  hand  in  one  of  his  and  stroked 
the  white  curve  from  her  wrist  upwards  with  the 
other,  her  thoughts  unwillingly  sprang  back  to  the 
long-ago  day  when  Arnot  had  caressed  her  bare 
arms.  There  was  something  of  the  same  quality 
in  Cosmo's  touch,  something  which  left  her  inner 
being  unresponsive.  In  her  careless  desire  to 
drift,  she  had  never  looked  to  see  whither  she  was 
drifting,  and  wonder  suddenly  came  upon  her  as 
to  whether  she  desired  to  go  with  this  current  or 


The  Golden  Bird  351 

not.  It  seemed  now  as  if  there  might  be  a  whirl- 
pool ahead.  Was  she  prepared  to  be  engulfed  in 
it,  to  be  whirled  in  its  wild  embrace,  or  flung  out- 
wards— on  what  shore? 

She  sighed.  Her  thoughts  spun  in  a  bewildering 
tangle.  In  spite  of  herself,  she  was  being  forced  to 
think  to-night. 

' '  Why  do  you  sigh  ? ' '  murmured  Cosmo.  ' '  God- 
desses should  only  smile." 

"I  am  not  a  goddess." 

"What  are  you,  then?" 

"Only  a  woman." 

"And  a  woman  who  has  just  said  that  she  is 
happy!  Is  that  why  you  sigh?" 

"I — suppose  so." 

"Not  because  the  Golden  Bird's  feathers  are 
coming  out?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"Don't  you  know  the  legend  of  the  Golden 
Bird?"  he  asked.  His  hand  slid  up  her  arm  until 
it  met  the  falling  laces  of  her  sleeve. 

Her  voice  trembled  as  she  whispered,  "No." 

"I  came  across  it  the  other  day  in  a  little  book 
of  prose  poems.  I  meant  to  bring  it  to  you. " 

Titian  felt  that  she  ought  to  check  his  caresses, 
but  words  failed  her. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  speech  and  emotion  were 


352  The  Torch  of  Life 

on  two  absolutely  different  planes.  What  each 
said  appeared  to  bear  no  relation  whatsoever  to 
what  they  did  or  felt.  She  only  knew  that  speech 
must  continue.  She  felt  safer  while  his  voice 
went  on. 

"Tell  me,"  she  whispered.  She  could  not 
speak  above  her  breath. 

"Every  day  on  his  way  to  school  a  boy  passed  a 
lonely  house, "  said  Cosmo,  his  eyes  on  the  troubled 
loveliness  of  her  face,  half -seen  in  the  dusk.  "In 
an  upper  window  was  perched  a  beautiful  golden 
bird.  It  seemed  to  him  that  its  head  turned  to 
watch  him  as  he  went.  He  longed  to  see  it 
nearer,  to  touch  it,  to  have  it  for  his  own.  Day 
by  day,  the  longing  grew,  until  it  became  an  ob- 
session. He  pined.  He  felt  that  he  would  die 
unless  he  got  the  Golden  Bird  for  his  own.  At 
last,  one  night,  he  broke  into  the  house,  climbed 
softly  to  the  upper  room,  and  stole  the  bird.  It 
was  very  quiet.  He  hid  it  under  his  coat  and  ran 
away.  When  he  got  to  a  secret  place  he  gently 
brought  it  forth  to  look  at  it.  It  was  a  stuffed 
bird,  and  its  feathers  were  coming  out!" 

His  voice  trailed  away  into  silence.  His  arm 
slipped  suddenly  round  her.  He  touched  the 
pendant  on  her  breast. 

"Here  is  a  better  emblem  of  our  golden  bird," 


The  Golden  Bird  353 

he  whispered.  The  soft  contact  went  to  his  head. 
He  pressed  her  closely  to  him  with  sudden  passion ; 
kissed  her  as  Arnot  had  kissed  her  in  those  bitter, 
unforgotten  days. 

"  My  God,  how  lovely  you  are!" 

It  might  have  been  an  echo! 

Yet,  for  a  moment,  his  passion  swayed  and 
held  her,  swung  her  into  the  grip  of  an  emotion 
which  left  her  trembling,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

She  put  out  hands  of  protest. 

"Stop!  "she  cried.     "Stop!" 

He  drew  away,  still  holding  her. 

"  Let  me  go,  please, "  she  said. 

He  released  her,  sobering  suddenly. 

"  Please  go — leave  me  to  myself  for  a  little " 

"I  hardly " 

"  If  you  care  at  all  for  me  you  will  do  as  I  ask. " 

"Of  course  I  care." 

"Then  please  go." 

"But  you " 

"I  shall  be  all  right  here.  No  one  will  disturb 
me.  Please  do  as  I  ask  you. " 

"Won't  you  let  me  take  you  back  to  the  house?" 

"  No.     I  shall  go  back  myself  in  a  few  minutes. " 

He  turned  to  go,  but  came  back  quickly  and  bent 
over  her. 

"You'll  forgive  me,  won't  you?" 
33 


354  The  Torch  of  Life 

To  his  surprise  and  shame  she  began  to  cry 
softly. 

"Don't.  You  mustn't.  I'm  going,"  he  said, 
with  swift  alarm. 

He  turned  and  went  without  another  word,  and 
Titian,  with  beating  heart,  began  to  dry  her  tears. 

Cosmo  Trevor's  violence  had  unnerved  her, 
coming  so  suddenly  upon  the  heels  of  his  dallying 
minstrelsy.  She  wanted  to  be  alone  to  regain  her 
self-control  before  she  had  to  face  people  again. 
She  felt  as  if  each  touch  of  his  lips  must  have  left 
a  burning  imprint.  She  was  a  woman  now,  not 
the  girl  whom  Arnot's  kisses  had  seared.  She  must 
search  her  soul  to  see  what  this  thing  really  meant. 

Couples  passed  backwards  and  forwards.  The 
solitude  had  suddenly  become  populous.  Where 
could  she  go  in  search  of  her  former  happy  poise? 
Suddenly  Fenton's  words  flash6d  across  her  mind. 

"I  am  taking  you  to  the  yew  hedge.  It  is  cool 
and  quiet  there. " 

Cool  and  quiet.  That  was  just  what  she  wanted. 
She  would  slip  away  there  now,  although  she 
would  not  go  with  Fenton  when  he  had  asked  her. 

Poor  Fenton!  She  had  been  cruel  to  him. 
What  a  contrast ! 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  burning  cheeks  as 
she  went  hurriedly  to  the  shelter  of  the  great  yew 


The  Golden  Bird  355 

hedge.  Spaces  for  seats  had  been  cut  in  its  depth 
at  intervals.  Some  of  these  bore  glimmering  forms 
as  she  hastened  by.  The  last  two  were  empty, 
and  she  chose  the  nearer,  sinking  back  into  it  with 
a  sigh  of  relief. 

Here  she  could  be  quiet.  Here  she  could  think, 
when  the  bewildering  whirl  in  her  brain  would 
permit  thought.  Here  she  could  rest  until  the 
peaceful  solace  of  the  night  laid  cooling  hands  upon 
her  perturbed  spirit,  and  armed  her  with  self- 
confidence  enough  to  face  the  world  again. 

What  was  it  that  he  had  said? 

"We  have  travelled  far  since  the  Venetian  days ! " 

How  far  had  she  not  travelled  since  she  had 
looked  at  the  glowing  vision  of  herself  in  the  glass 
only  a  few  short  hours  ago?  How  far  had  she 
not  travelled  even  since  she  sat  with  Fenton  in  the 
conservatory?  On  what  road  were  her  feet  set? 

She  hid  her  hot  face  in  her  hands  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   YEW    HEDGE 

IT  was  dark  and  sheltered  in  the  yew  hedge. 
The  summer  air  was  very  sweet.  No  sound  of 
flute  or  violin  broke  the  stillness.  Only  the  lesser 
night  noises  were  to  be  heard — tiny  rustlings,  the 
soft  whirr  of  moths,  the  crack  of  a  twig,  the  sudden 
chirp  of  a  startled  bird. 

Titian  did  not  know  how  long  she  sat  there, 
trying  to  sift  the  grain  from  the  whirling  chaff  of 
her  thoughts. 

At  last,  the  sound  of  approaching  steps  and 
voices  roused  her  to  a  consciousness  of  her  sur- 
roundings. She  shrank  back  further  into  the 
recess ;  she  did  not  want  anyone  to  find  her  here. 

The  voices  became  articulate;  the  steps  passed 
her  retreat;  she  saw  the  pale  glimmer  of  a  girl's 
dress;  heard  the  clear  timbre  of  a  familiar  voice 
in  words  which  cut  across  the  stillness  like  a 
whip-lash. 

"So  you  kissed  her  at  last,  Cossie?  How  did 
she  like  it?" 

356 


The  Yew  Hedge  357 

"Don't!     I  lost  my  head." 

The  tinkling  laugh  which  came  back  through  the 
darkness  made  Titian  gasp.  She  clutched  the  seat 
with  both  hands  and  sat  there  incapable  of  sound 
or  motion  as  if  a  nightmare  gripped  her.  Pangs  of 
fierce  humiliation  seized  and  rent  her.  Her  brain 
worked  quickly  enough  now,  illumined  by  that 
lightning  flash. 

Toye  and  Cosmo  laughed  at  her.  He  had  dared 
to  kiss  her,  and  now  he  made  a  mock  of  her.  It 
was  nothing  to  him,  but  it  was  no  light  matter  to 
her.  Her  pride  was  in  the  dust.  She  had  been 
played  with,  laughed  at.  The  thought  stung. 

She  bit  her  lip  fiercely  to  still  its  trembling. 
They  must  never  know.  She  could  not  bear  to 
think  that  they  should  ever  fathom  the  depth  of 
her  mortification.  She  must  play  the  game  now 
as  she  had  told  Fenton  that  she  had  played  it  long 
ago. 

At  the  thought  of  Fenton,  a  stab  of  remorse  shot 
through  her.  He,  at  least,  had  never  failed  her. 
In  her  darkest  hours,  she  had  felt  the  comforting 
grip  of  his  hand.  But  she — when  he  would  have 
leaned  upon  her,  she  was  as  a  reed  that  broke  and 
pierced  him.  From  the  background  of  her  thoughts, 
his  eyes  looked  at  her,  sorrowfully  questioning. 
In  her  careless  selfishness,  she  had  deliberately  hurt 


358  The  Torch  of  Life 

him,  her  one  good  friend.  She  must  have  been 
mad.  Well,  she  was  sane  enough  now.  Any 
spell  which  Cosmo's  presence  had  cast  over  her 
was  utterly  destroyed  by  that  one  chance-heard 
sentence.  She  despised  herself  for  having  fallen 
under  the  glamour  of  his  youth  and  magnetism. 
A  glamour  which  his  passionate  kisses  had  done 
much  to  dispel. 

She  did  not  know  how  long  she  sat  there  in  the 
blue  dusk  of  night.  She  was  unconscious  of 
everything  save  the  tumult  within  her. 

At  last,  the  power  of  motion  returned  to  her,  and 
little  by  little  the  blood  which  seemed  to  have  ebbed 
from  her  being  began  to  tingle  through  her  veins 
once  more.  With  a  trembling  effort,  she  tried  to 
raise  the  oriflamme  of  her  pride.  All  the  struggles 
of  the  past,  all  the  occasions  on  which  she  had 
fought  and  conquered  and  marched  with  colours 
flying,  came  to  her  aid  in  this  moment  of  need. 
She  must  face  her  world  again  with  head  erect. 
No  one  must  guess  at  her  humiliation. 

She  rose  to  find  that  her  limbs  were  quivering  as 
if  she  had  had  an  illness.  Slowly  at  first,  but  then 
with  quickened  steps,  she  went  back  along  the 
path  down  which  she  had  hurried  in  search  of 
peace. 

Peace?    She  thought  to  herself  with  a  smile  of 


The  Yew  Hedge  359 

bitter  self -mockery.  She  had  not  found  peace 
but  a  sword,  whose  wound  still  throbbed. 

By  good  luck,  she  happened  on  an  entrance  to 
the  servants'  staircase,  now  deserted,  up  which 
she  sped  unobserved  to  the  shelter  of  her  own 
room. 

There  she  hastily  bathed  her  face  in  cool  water, 
and  rearranged  the  golden  roses  in  the  waves  of 
her  hair.  To  outward  eyes,  it  was  the  same  Titian, 
a  little  paler,  a  shade  less  radiant,  who  descended 
the  stairs  some  moments  later. 

She  rallied  all  her  forces  to  her  aid  as  she  went 
slowly  downwards;  wondering  how  she  was  to 
face  the  chattering  crowd  and  the  partners  whom 
she  had  deserted ;  apologising  to  the  couples  whom 
she  disturbed  on  the  stairs.  Everything  seemed 
to  have  changed  since  last  she  had  trodden  them. 
She  found  the  house  suffocating,  the  lights  garish, 
the  distant  music  fretful  and  thin. 

By  some  curious  trick  of  Fate,  Fenton  stood  as 
before,  waiting  in  the  hall.  When  she  saw  him,  the 
impulse  seized  her  to  retreat.  She  stopped  for  an 
instant  and  her  heart  seemed  to  cease  its  beating. 
She  did  not  want  to  see  him  now.  She  felt  as  if 
she  could  not  meet  the  scrutiny  of  his  eyes,  as  if 
she  were  too  spent  to  face  the  possibility  of  another 
scene.  But  flight  was  impossible.  The  way 


360  The  Torch  of  Life 

behind  her  was  blocked.  She  must  go  forward. 
It  was  part  of  the  game. 

Fenton,  watching,  saw  the  little  struggle,  and 
wondered  with  a  dull  ache  in  his  heart  what  had 
happened  to  dull  his  Vision  Splendid.  It  was  as 
if  the  former  glowing  flame  had  been  quenched,  and 
he  felt  that  he  would  give  anything  in  the  world 
to  have  it  relighted,  whether  Trevor  or  another 
held  the  torch. 

He  had  himself  well  in  hand  as  he  went  to  meet 
her.  No  trace  of  his  former  emotion  remained 
except  that  his  face,  too,  wore  a  quenched  look. 

"Have  you  had  any  supper?"  he  asked  in  his 
most  ordinary  tone. 

Her  quick  look  of  relief  hurt  him  a  little.  Had 
she  imagined  then,  that  he  would  make  a  scene? 

"I?"  she  said  faintly.  "Yes.  No.  I  don't 
think  so. " 

He  took  her  hand  and  tucked  it  within  his 
arm. 

"Pax  and  chums,"  he  said  softly.  "Come  and 
have  some  with  me  now." 

"Haven't  you  had  any?" 

"Not  yet.     I  was  waiting."    - 

"For  what?" 

"You,"  he  answered. 

She  looked  up  quickly  at  that,  and  her  eyes 


The  Yew  Hedge  361 

filled  with  tears.  ' '  That  was  more  than  I  deserved , 
Fenty." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  he  said,  leading  her 
towards  a  little  table  for  two. 

His  curtness  did  her  good,  and  helped  to  restore 
her  poise.  Surely  there  was  no  one  like  Fenton. 
There  was  not  another  in  her  world  who  had  never 
failed  her.  She  rested  on  his  silence  while  he  saw 
to  her  needs.  He  filled  her  champagne  glass. 

"  Drink  that.     It  will  do  you  good. " 

"Will  it?"  she  asked,  drinking  it  obediently. 
"  I  don't  think  that  I  care  very  much  for  it. " 

"It's  an  acquired  taste,"  he  answered.  "What 
will  you  have  now?  They  offered  me  truffled 
larks,  but  I  didn't  think  that  you  would  care  to 
eat  an  embodied  song." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  cried.  "People  don't  eat  larks, 
do  they?" 

"  Probably  they're  only  sparrows, "  Fenton  said. 
"I'll  get  you  some  galantine." 

"Thank  you." 

It  was  such  a  relief  to  be  ordinary  again,  to  be 
with  someone  who  understood.  In  the  revulsion  of 
her  feeling,  it  seemed  to  Titian  as  if  she  had  found 
sudden  harbour  from  stormy  seas.  It  was  an  odd 
place  in  which  to  find  peace,  this  gaily-lit  supper- 
room  full  of  chattering  people,  where  the  light 


362  The  Torch  of  Life 

clatter  of  fork  and  plate  was  punctuated  by  the 
popping  of  champagne  corks. 

There  was  never  any  need  to  talk  to  Fenton  if 
one  did  not  wish.  The  bond  between  them  was 
close  enough  to  permit  silence.  Titian  at  inter- 
vals studied  his  face — the  unfamiliar  contour  of 
cheek  and  chin,  the  beautiful  lines  of  his  clearly- 
cut  mouth — and  wondered  if  the  distraught  Adela 
had  ever  loved  him.  It  should  riot  be  difficult  for 
any  woman  to  love  Fenty,  she  thought  vaguely; 
any  woman  who  really  knew  him. 

"Are  you  tired?"  His  voice  broke  across  her 
musings. 

She  started.     "I  think  I  am,  just  a  little." 

' '  You  ought  not  to  dance  too  much.  Remember 
that  you  are  not  used  to  it. " 

"Oh,  but  I  have  had  great  practice  lately,"  she 
began,  then  stopped,  reddening  painfully.  Her 
eyes  met  his.  What  she  read  there  prompted  a 
hasty,  "Fenton,  will  you  forgive  me?" 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly  for  a  moment. 
"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  he  answered 
slowly. 

Her  lids  drooped.  She  felt  chilled;  as  if  she 
had  been  put  away  to  a  little  distance.  As  if 
Fenton  had  accepted  the  olive-branch  but  had  not 
taken  her  hand  with  it. 


The  Yew  Hedge  363 

The  opening  of  the  door  let  in  a  strain  of  music. 
Titian  rose.  Fenton  rose  too. 

"Are  you  dancing  this?"  he  asked. 

Glancing  at  her  fan  she  noticed  that  the  pro- 
gramme was  gone  from  it. 

"I've  lost  my  programme,"  she  answered,  "but 
I  know  that  I  was  engaged  for  everything. " 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  overdo  it." 

"What  does  it  matter?" 

"The  lost  programme  will  be  a  good  excuse  for 
getting  out  of  those  you  don't  want  to  dance." 

She  brightened  suddenly,  but  it  was  a  chilly 
brightness  which  puzzled  Fenton. 

"I  thank  thee,  Fenty,  for  teaching  me  that 
word,"  she  paraphrased  lightly.  "Will  you  take 
me  back  to  the  ballroom,  please?  The  pillar  near 
the  door  is  my  general  rendezvous. " 

He  took  her  back  without  a  word.  Before  he 
left  the  ballroom,  an  episode  occurred  which  gave 
him  food  for  thought. 

Near  the  pillar  stood  a  reproachful  partner  of 
Titian's.  While  she  was  making  belated  explana- 
tions to  him,  Cosmo  Trevor  hurried  up.  His 
eyes  were  bright  and  his  manner  a  trifle  nervous. 

"This  is  ours,  I  think,  Mrs.  Fleury,"  he  said, 
tentatively. 

The  sound  of  his  voice  turned  Titian  to  ice  once 


364  The  Torch  of  Life 

more,  but  with  an  effort  she  controlled  herself, 
and  faced  him  with  a  forced  smile.  He  seemed 
to  have  dwindled  since  last  she  had  seen  him. 

"I  think  you  are  making  a  mistake,"  she  said 
coolly.  She  did  not  glance  towards  Fenton,  but 
she  was  aware  of  his  quiet  watchfulness. 

"I  assure  you  that  I  am  not,"  he  persisted.  It 
had  taken  some  courage  to  come  up  and  claim  his 
dance.  He  pointed  to  the  space  in  his  programme. 
"This  is  number  15." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  have  lost  my  pro- 
gramme," she  said,  "but  I  am  quite  convinced 
that  you  are  making  a  mistake.  Captain  March 
has  been  patiently  waiting  here  for  me.  Haven't 
you,  Captain  March?" 

"Impatiently,  Mrs.  Fleury, "  returned  Captain 
March. 

"You  see?"  she  said,  turning  to  Cosmo  with  an 
explanatory  air. 

"I  confess  that  I  don't,"  he  returned.  "What 
am  I  supposed  to  see?" 

"That  I  have  lost  my  programme,"  she  said 
lightly.  "I  cannot  remember  that  any  dances 
are  due  to  you. " 

She  smiled  again  as  she  swung  away  on  Captain 
March's  arm,  but  she  suddenly  felt  very  tired  and 
her  heart  was  as  heavy  as  lead. 


CHAPTER  IX 

LOVE  WITH  WINGS 

'""TITIAN  awoke  next  morning  to  a  full  sense  of 
*  some  untoward  happening.  Then  she  re- 
membered, and  with  remembrance  came  swift 
longing  for  the  shelter  of  Camus.  The  pleasures 
of  her  visit,  once  so  sweet,  had  turned  to  Dead 
Sea  Fruit.  She  wanted  nothing  so  much  as  the 
undisturbed  peace,  the  once-fretting  solitude  of 
her  own  home. 

"Going  home  really  is  the  nicest  thing  in  the 
world,"  she  thought.  "Fenty  always  knows." 

It  was  strange  how  her  thoughts  fled  to  him  in 
any  crisis;  how  he  seemed  to  be  part  of  her  very 
life.  What  madness  had  blinded  her  to  the  fact 
that  it  was  a  king's  gift  which  he  had  been  ready  to 
lay  at  her  feet?  A  gift  which  she  had  spurned 
for  a  glittering  bauble  that  broke  and  cut  her 
when  she  touched  it. 

A  great  sadness  filled  her  at  the  thought.  While 
she  had  been  playing  at  youth,  perhaps  she  had  let 

365 


366  The  Torch  of  Life 

the  real  thing  slip  by.  She  remembered  Fenton's 
passion,  then  his  altered  look,  and  the  sadness  of 
the  mouth  that  had  said,  "There  is  nothing  to 
forgive. " 

What  had  he  meant  by  that?  Did  he  mean  that 
she  had  shut  a  door  upon  herself  at  which  she 
might  knock  in  vain,  or  did  he  mean  that  it  really 
did  not  matter?  Or  yet  again  was  it  only  her  own 
smallness  that  read  any  lesser  meaning  into  the 
measure  of  his  complete  comprehension? 

She  turned  restlessly  in  her  bed.  It  was  strange 
how  the  proportions  of  last  night's  affairs  had 
altered.  The  memory  of  her  humiliation  had 
shrunk  to  a  hot  pin-prick,  while  the  scene  in  the 
conservatory  with  Fenton  now  appeared  to  her 
as  one  of  life's  touchstone  moments  in  which  she 
had  been  found  pitifully  wanting. 

Her  one  desire  was  for  flight.  She  felt  as  if  she 
could  not  stay  on  in  this  altered  atmosphere,  as  if 
she  never  wanted  to  see  Cosmo  Trevor  or  Toye 
again.  She  did  not  want  to  see  Fenton  yet  either. 
The  thought  of  her  recent  attitude  towards  him 
humiliated  her  even  more  than  the  remembrance 
of  Cosmo's  kiss. 

While  she  racked  her  brains  for  an  excuse,  Fate, 
in  freakish  kindness,  provided  her  with  one  in  the 
shape  of  news  from  Camus.  Mrs.  Brooke,  the 


Love  With  Wings  367 

housekeeper,  had  fallen  downstairs  and  broken 
her  leg. 

She  hastened  with  her  dressing  and  bade  Mar- 
shall pack,  while  she  hurried  to  find  Lady  Tempest 
and  announce  her  going. 

As  she  went  downstairs,  she  shared  the  sense  of 
lassitude  which  pervaded  the  house.  Everything 
bore  that  aspect  of  tired  disarray  which  is  known 
on  the  morning  after  a  ball. 

After  the  bustling  activities  of  the  past  few  days, 
it  seemed  like  a  deserted  house.  Neither  boys  nor 
dogs  were  to  be  seen.  Not  even  a  whistle  was  to  be 
heard. 

She  found  Lady  Tempest  seated  at  her  desk  in 
her  own  little  room.  She  turned  a  rather  tired 
face  towards  her  as  she  entered. 

"My  dear,  why  did  you  get  up  so  early?" 
she  asked.  "I  wanted  you  to  have  a  good 
long  rest  after  your  triumphs  of  last  night. 
Hugh  and  I  were  very  proud  of  our  lovely 
cousin. " 

"Dear  Mary,  you  are  all  too  good  to  me," 
Titian  cried  warmly.  "Your  ball  was  a  huge  suc- 
cess. Everything  was  perfect.  It  was,"  she 
assured  herself  fiercely.  "It  was  only  my  own 
folly  that  spoiled  it  for  me. " 

"I  don't  like  to  see  those  dark  shadows  under 


368  The  Torch  of  Life 

your  eyes.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  your 
conquests." 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something  else,"  Titian  an- 
swered, choosing  a  chair  with  its  back  to  the  light. 

"Yes?"  Lady  Tempest  leaned  forward  with 
quickened  interest.  "Yes,  dear?" 

"It  is  only  that  I  must  leave  you  to-day." 

"Leave  us?"  Blank  disappointment  rang  in 
her  tone. 

"Yes,"  Titian  went  on  hurriedly.  "I  had 
disturbing  news  from  Camus  this  morning.  My 
housekeeper,  Mrs.  Brooke,  has  fallen  downstairs 
and  broken  her  leg.  I  must  go  home  at  once  to 
see  that  she  is  properly  looked  after." 

"But  could  not  someone  else " 

"No,  I  must  go  myself.  I  really  must.  Don't 
ask  me  to  stay,  Mary  dear.  You  have  all  been 
more  than  good  to  me.  You  have  given  me  a  very 
happy  time,  but  I  must  go." 

Mary  Tempest  looked  closely  at  her,  and  being  a 
wise  woman,  ceased  her  persuasions. 

"Very  well,"  she  returned  quietly.  "I  will  not 
press  you  any  more.  I  am  very  sorry.  I  don't 
know  what  the  boys  and  Fenton  will  say  when 
they  come  back." 

"Where  have  they  gone  to?"  The  thought  of 
their  absence  brought  relief. 


Love  With  Wings  369 

"They  took  lunch  with  them  and  went  off  to 
Craven  Water  to  fish. " 

Titian  got  up  and  stood  for  a  moment  by  Mary 
Tempest's  chair.  Then  she  stooped  and  pressed 
her  cheek  against  the  older  woman's. 

"You  do  care  for  me  a  little,  Mary,  don't  you?" 
she  whispered. 

"My  dear,  I  care  for  you  very  much,"  said 
Lady  Tempest,  greatly  touched. 

Titian  said  nothing,  but  squeezed  the  shoulder 
she  held,  almost  passionately. 

"You  are  a  good  friend,  a  true  friend — like 
Fenty, "  she  said,  after  an  instant. 

Then  she  got  up  and  slipped  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  Lady  Tempest  to  wonder  what  had  hap- 
pened. She  was  not  in  the  least  deceived  by  the 
urgency  of  Mrs.  Brooke's  need. 

Mrs.  Brooke  was  overwhelmed  with  gratitude 
at  her  mistress's  attentions,  but  when  Titian  had 
seen  to  her  comfort  and  paid  her  one  or  two  daily 
visits  there  remained  little  else  to  be  done.  Her 
presence,  if  prolonged  beyond  the  necessary  ten 
minutes,  only  embarrassed  the  good  woman,  and 
conversation  was  wont  to  flag. 

Titian  missed  Miss  Em's  company.  The  never- 
failing  salt  of  her  conversation  had  done  much  to 

24 


370  The  Torch  of  Life 

savour  former  days.  She  missed  the  young  com- 
panionship which  had  blown  through  her  life  like 
a  spring  breeze  at  Craven.  She  missed  the  con- 
stant claims  of  the  two  boys,  the  hourly  call  of 
unnumbered  yet  insistent  trifles,  the  games,  the 
merry  lessons. 

Now  time  seemed  to  go  on  leaden  feet.  Each 
once-rounded  hour  spun  to  a  long  thin  line.  Life 
seemed  a  flat  affair.  She  was  lonely  and  her 
thoughts  were  but  fretting  company  at  best. 

She  tried  to  interest  herself  in  her  former  occu- 
pations, but  they  had  lost  their  zest.  She  busied 
herself  for  hours  with  Mr.  Trant,  going  over  plans, 
specifications,  and  accounts  until  her  head  ached. 

For  those  dreary  days  she  saw  no  one  but  her 
agent.  From  him,  she  learned  that  Fenton  had 
returned  to  Belfield.  Her  outlook  brightened  at 
the  thought  of  his  coming,  but  she  drooped  again 
when  day  after  day  passed  without  bringing  him. 

It  seemed  as  if  Nature  were  in  league  against  her 
as  well,  because  for  two  whole  days  the  world  was 

obscured  in  a  white  pall  of  fog.     Thick  webs  of  mist 
I 

hid  even  the  wind-shaven  trees  of  the  avenue;  the 
grass  outside  the  courtyard  was  veiled  in  greyish 
gauze.  Drops  gathered,  hung,  and  dropped  from 
window  and  lintel;  ran  and  pattered  from  leaf  to 
leaf  on  the  trails  of  the  creeper. 


Love  With  Wings  371 

The  fog  dimmed  the  sea-sounds,  and  was 
pierced  only  by  the  recurrent  wail  of  the  fog-horn 
at  the  lighthouse  on  the  point,  discordant  and 
menacing. 

Within,  the  house  felt  close  and  airless.  Pol- 
ished surfaces  were  dimmed  with  damp;  chintz 
covers  felt  cold  and  cheerless  to  the  touch. 

Titian  had  a  fire  lighted  in  her  sitting-room,  and 
sat  by  the  blaze  with  Bibi  on  her  lap  and  Rufus's 
head  against  her  knee,  watching  the  blue  and 
orange  flames  crackling  upwards  through  the 
sticks.  She  felt  very  lonely  and  wondered  anew 
why  Fenton  did  not  come. 

A  letter  from  Miss  Em,  re-directed  from  Craven, 
brought  her  some  news  of  the  outer  world.  It 
appeared  that  Baldwin  was  a  different  man  from 
the  deprecating  uncared-for  being  whom  she  had 
found  at  Breston  on  her  arrival. 

"Not  a  stocking  to  his  foot,  my  dear,  nor  a 
button  to  his  shirts!  Gwendoline  has  had  the 
sense  to  give  everything  into  my  charge — a  poor 
wisp  of  a  creature,  I  must  say.  She  belongs  to  the 
peakers  and  piners,  and  her  ideal  is  to  be  ladylike. 
For  instance,  she  thinks  it  is  ladylike  to  have  a 
small  appetite  and  to  be  a  poor  sleeper!  I  am 
sure  she  thinks  me  most  unladylike  because  I 
know  the  uses  of  a  duster  and  a  sweeping-brush 


372  The  Torch  of  Life 

and  have  cleaned  the  windows  so  that  you  can 
now  see  through  them.  Tell  me  about  your  grand 
doings  whenever  you  can  spare  time  to  write. " 

Spare  time!  She  could  spare  time  to  write  an 
exhaustive  chronicle  now,  but  what  had  she  to  tell 
Miss  Em? 

Nevertheless  her  letter  acted  as  a  spur  to 
thought.  Titian  rose  from  her  fruitless  musings, 
and  fetching  her  knitting-bag,  began  to  work  at 
a  tiny  jacket  for  Miss  Em's  decried  niece  or  nephew. 
Her  fingers  moved  quickly;  the  little  garment 
grew. 

A  gust  of  wind  shook  a  patter  of  drops  from  the 
creeper  outside.  They  sounded  like  the  echoing 
footsteps  of  her  little  lost  ghosts.  Her  sense  of 
loneliness  deepened.  She  put  the  baby's  jacket 
down  in  her  lap,  and  her  tears  fell  quick  as  rain. 

She  dried  them  hastily  lest  they  should  fall  on 
the  little  garment,  and  sat  gazing  into  the  fire 
with  eyes  that  saw  it  as  an  orange  blur. 

She  was  awake  at  last.  Now  she  realised  what 
Penton  had  always  meant  in  her  life.  Now  her 
spirit  answered  to  the  call  of  his,  as  it  had  always 
answered  if  she  had  only  known.  She  wanted  him, 
her  Fenty,  her  own  man,  with  her  whole  heart.  It 
was  love  that  had  looked  at  her  from  his  eyes  that 
night,  a  love  with  which  she  had  played,  as  he  had 


Love  With  Wings  373 

truly  said.  It  made  her  pain  no  easier  to  bear 
to  know  that  she  had  thrust  it  from  her  on  the 
impulse  of  a  moment's  folly.  But  Fenty  knew. 
He  always  understood.  Why  did  he  not  come? 

With  the  query  flashed  its  answer. 

Fenton,  for  all  his  gentleness,  had  a  pride  as 
high  as  her  own.  That  his  love  was  as  unalter- 
able as  the  fixed  stars,  some  inner  instinct  assured 
her,  but  she  knew  in  her  inmost  being  that  Fenton 
was  not  the  man  to  lay  his  heart  again  beneath 
her  feet  for  her  trampling. 

Something  of  his  Vision  Splendid  came  to  her  as 
she  sat  there  by  the  fire,  and  she  saw  once  for  all 
how  inextricably  her  life  was  knit  with  his.  They 
had  grown  together  all  these  years.  How  was  it 
that  she  had  not  known? 

He  was  necessary  to  her  as  air,  bread,  and  water 
— three  of  the  elements,  she  thought  with  a  soft 
little  smile,  making  bread  typify  earth.  What 
of  the  fourth?  Suddenly  she  remembered  the 
light  that  had  shone  in  his  eyes  that  night,  a  light 
such  as  she  had  once  seen  in  Mary  Tempest's 
face.  There  was  the  fourth  element.  Her  spirit 
leaped  to  meet  it  as  flame  to  flame. 

She  hid  her  burning  face  in  her  hands.  If  Fenton 
would  only  come  all  would  be  well  once  more  be- 
tween them.  If  they  once  looked  at  each  other 


374  The  Torch  of  Life 

there  could  be  no  need  for  words.  It  seemed  as  if 
a  chink  of  the  Gates  of  the  World  Invisible  opened 
at  the  thought. 

Perhaps  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  make  the  first 
move.  Could  that  be  the  reason  of  his  absence? 
If  it  were — it  was  in  her  power  to  give  at  last,  as 
she  had  longed  to  do  all  her  life.  She  would  give 
with  both  hands  to  Fenton,  and  her  very  first 
gift  should  be  her  pride. 

She  got  up  hastily  from  the  couch  and  went  to 
her  desk.  With  flushed  cheeks  and  shining  eyes 
she  wrote  her  first  love-letter. 

"Fenty,  dear,"  it  ran,  "when  are  you  coming 
home?  The  light  is  still  burning. — Titian. " 

She  kissed  the  paper  just  below  her  name,  and 
slipped  the  letter  into  an  envelope.  As  she  did  so, 
Rufus's  tail  began  to  beat  the  floor.  There  was  a 
step  outside.  The  door  opened  and  Fenton  came 
in.  She  turned  and  their  eyes  met.  Then  with- 
out a  word,  she  rose  and  put  the  letter  into  his 
hand. 


THE  END 


JS:  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

C.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogue  ««nt 
on  application 


Matthew  Hargraves 

S.  G.  Tallentyre 

Author  of  "Bassett,"  "Life  of  Voltaire,"  etc. 

To  those  discriminating  readers  of  fiction  who 
put  human  interest  above  the  eccentric  and  ex- 
ceptional, this  new  book  by  S.  G.  Tallentyre, 
recounting  with  rare  fidelity  the  progress  through 
life  of  Matthew  Hargraves,  son  of  the  portly 
landlord  of  the  Hope  and  Anchor,  with  all  the 
qualities  one  respects  and  the  limitations  one 
recognizes  in  the  average  man,  will  afford  a 
delightful  few  hours.  The  delicate  way  in  which 
the  author  conveys  to  the  reader  the  sense  of 
growing  sympathy  between  Matthew  and  the 
girl  whom  he  and  his  wife  have  taken  into  their 
coldly  correct  household  is  a  refreshing  escape 
from  the  clumsy,  or  even  gross,  manner  in  which 
many  writers  of  fiction,  with  an  artistry  less 
perfect,  would  have  done  violence  to  the  situa- 
tion. But  the  supreme  achievement  of  the 
author's  artistry  is  to  have  made  a  commonplace 
man  thoroughly  interesting. 


The 
Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

By 

K.  F.  Purdon 

With  an  Introduction  by 

George  A.  Birmingham 


Very  little  has  hitherto  been  heard 
in  modern  Irish  fiction  of  the  great 
midland  plains  of  Meath,  which  Miss 
Purdon  has  marked  in  this  book  for 
her  own.  She  has,  in  a  sense,  dis- 
covered ^a  peasantry  which  is  new  to 
English  readers.  Its  characteristic 
pathos  and  humor  run  through  her 
story  of  life  in  Ardenoo. 


Syrup  of  the  Bees 

By 
F.  W.  Bain 

Author  of  "A  Digit  of  the  Moon,"  "A  Draught 
of  the  Blue,"  etc. 


"  Mr.  Bain's  stories  are  full  of  wistful- 
ness  and  beauty.  There  is  a  tenderness, 
a  richness  of  color,  a  warmth  of  passion, 
and  an  elemental  understanding  of  men 
and  women.  .  .  .  They  seem  to  me  to 
place  Mr.  Bain  on  an  eminence  isolated 
and  unique.  .  .  .  No  words  that  I  can 
write  can  fittingly  express  the  fascination 
of  these  books." — E.  V.  Lucas,  in  the 
London  Bookman. 


Children 
of  BanisHment 

By 
Francis  William  Sullivan 


This  robust  tale  of  the  northern  woods, 
with  its  atmosphere  of  camp  and  cabin, 
and  its  background  of  stately  forest,  traces 
the  fortunes  of  one  who  through  a  happy 
chance  discovers  the  treachery  of  the  man 
to  whom  he  has  entrusted  the  fulfillment 
of  his  life's  ambition,  and  just  in  time  to 
avert  disaster.  Yet  redress  he  must  forego, 
for  the  man  who  has  attempted  to  wrong  him 
is  the  husband  of  the  woman  he  loves.  Out 
of  this  antagonism  of  interests  the  author  has 
developed  a  love  story  that  is  full  of  capital 
dramatic  situations,  that  opens  up  many 
unexpected  developments,  and  that  proceeds 
to  an  impressive  and  satisfying  climax. 


